LANDOR'S 


THE    PENTAMERON, 


ETC. 


LANDOR'S   COMPLETE   PROSE  WORKS. 


IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS  : 

First  Series.       CLASSICAL  DIALOGUES. 

Second  Series.     SOVEREIGNS  AND  STATESMEN. 

Third  Series.      LITERARY  MEN. 

Fourth  Series.    DIALOGUES   OF    LITERARY    MEN,    FAMOUS 

WOMEN,  AND  MISCELLANEOUS. 
Fifth   Series.       MISCELLANEOUS  DIALOGUES,  Continued. 

5  volumes.     i2mo,  cloth,  $10.00;  i6mo,  Oxford  style,  $5.00. 

THE  PENTAMERON.     Citation  and  Examination  of  William  Shake- 
speare, Minor  Prose  Pieces,  and  Criticisms.     I2mo,  cloth 

$2.00. 

PERICLES  AND  ASPASIA.     I2ir.o,  cloth,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE  PENTAMERON. 


CITATION    AND    EXAMINATION    OF    WILLIAM 
SHAKSPEARE. 

MINOR    PROSE    PIECES.      CRITICISMS. 


BY 

WALTER   SAVAGE   LANDOR, 

'/ 

AUTHOR  OF  "IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS,"  "PERICLES  AND  ASPASIA." 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1891. 


A* 


Copyright,  1888, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

THE  PENTAMERON i 

CITATION  AND  EXAMINATION  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  : 

Editor's  Preface 141 

Examination 151 

MINOR  PROSE  PIECES: 

I.     Opinions  on  Caesar,  Cromwell,  Milton,  and  Bona- 
parte             249 

II.    Inscription  for  a  Statue  at  St.  I ves 258 

III.  Sir  Robert  Peel,  and  Monuments  to  Public  Men    .  259 

IV.  To  Cornelius  at  Munich 264 

V.     The  Quarterly  Review 267 

VI.     A  Story  of  Santander 272 

VII.     The  Death  of  Hofer 283 

VIII.     A  Vision 286 

IX.     The  Dream  of  Petrarca 289 

X.     Parable  of  Asabel 292 

XI.    Jeribohaniah 295 

CRITICISMS  on  THEOCRITUS,  CATULLUS,  AND  PETRARCA: 

The  Idyls  of  Theocritus 301 

The  Poems  of  Catullus 325 

Francesco  Petrarca 372 

INDEX 411 

NOTE. —This  volume,  "Imaginary  Conversations"  (five  volumes), 
and  "  Pericles  and  Aspasia  "  (one  volume)  comprise  LANDOR'S  COMPLETE 
PROSE  WRITINGS. 


LANDOR'S   WRITINGS. 

THEY  are  unique.  Having  possessed  them,  we  should 
miss  them.  Their  place  would  be  supplied  by  no  others. 
There  is  hardly  a  conceivable  subject  in  life  or  literature 
which  they  do  not  illustrate  by  striking  aphorisms,  by 
concise  and  profound  observations,  by  wisdom  ever  ap- 
plicable to  the  needs  of  men,  and  by  wit  as  available  for 
their  enjoyment.  Nor,  above  all,  will  there  anywhere 
be  found  a  more  pervading  passion  for  liberty,  a  fiercer 
hatred  of  the  base,  a  wider  sympathy  with  the  wronged 
and  the  oppressed,  or  help  more  ready  at  all  times  for 
those  who  fight  at  odds  and  disadvantage  against  the 
powerful  and  the  fortunate,  than  in  the  writings  of 
WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 

JOHN   FORSTER. 


THE    PENTAMERON ; 

OR, 

INTERVIEWS   OF   MESSER   GIOVANNI   BOCCACCIO 
AND   MESSER   FRANCESCO    PETRARCA, 


SAID  MESSER  GIOVANNI  LAY  INFIRM  AT  HIS  VILLETTA  HARD  BY 
CERTALDO ; 

AFTER   WHICH   THEY   SAW   NOT  EACH   OTHER   ON   OUR 
SIDE   OF   PARADISE: 

SHOWING   HOW   THEY   DISCOURSED   UPON   THAT   FAMOUS   THEOLOGIAN 

MESSER   DANTE   ALIGHIERI, 

AND  SUNDRY   OTHER    MATTERS. 

EDITED    BY     PIEVANO    D.    GRIGI. 


THE    EDITOR'S    INTRODUCTION. 


WANTING  a  bell  for  my  church  at  San  Vivaldo,  and  hearing  that 
our  holy  religion  is  rapidly  gaining  ground  in  England,  to  the  un- 
speakable comfort  and  refreshment  of  the  faithful,  I  bethought  my- 
self that  I  might  perad venture  obtain  such  effectual  aid  from  the 
piety  and  liberality  of  the  converts  as  wellnigh  to  accomplish  the 
purchase  of  one.  Desirous,  moreover,  of  visiting  that  famous  nation 
of  whose  spiritual  prosperity  we  all  entertain  such  animated  hopes 
now  that  the  clouds  of  ignorance  begin  to  break  and  vanish,  I  re- 
solved that  nothing  on  my  part  should  be  wanting  to  so  blessed  a 
consummation.  Therefore,  while  I  am  executing  my  mission  in  re- 
gard to  the  bell,  I  omit  no  opportunity  of  demonstrating  how  much 
happier  and  peacefuller  are  we  who  live  in  unity  than  those  who, 
abandoning  the  household  of  Faith,  clothe  themselves  with  shreds 
and  warm  themselves  with  shavings. 

Subsidiary  to  the  aid  I  solicit,  I  brought  with  me,  and  here  lay 
before  the  public,  translated  by  the  best  hand  I  could  afford  to 
engage,  "  Certain  Interviews  of  Messer  Francesco  Petrarca  and 
Messer  Giovanni  Boccaccio,  etc.,"  which,  the  booksellers  tell  me, 
should  be  entitled  "  The  Pentameron,"  unless  I  would  return  with 
nothing  in  my  pocket.  I  am  ignorant  what  gave  them  this  idea  of 
my  intent,  unless  it  be  my  deficiency  in  the  language,  for  cer- 
tainly I  had  come  to  no  such  resolution.  Assurances  are  made  to 
me  by  the  intelligent  and  experienced  in  such  merchandise,  that 
the  manuscript  is  honestly  worth  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  fran- 
cesconi,  or  dollars.  To  such  a  pitch  hath  England  risen  up  again, 
within  these  few  years,  after  all  the  expenditure  of  her  protracted 
war! 

Is  there  any  true  Italian,  above  all  is  there  any  worthy  native  of 
Certaldo  or  San  Vivaldo,  who  revolveth  not  in  his  mind  what  a  sur- 
prise and  delight  it  will  be  to  Giovanni  in  paradise  the  first  time 
he  hears,  instead  of  that  cracked  and  jarring  tumbril  ( which  must 


X  THE    EDITOR  S    INTRODUCTION. 

have  grated  in  his  ear  most  grievously  ever  since  its  accident,  and 
have  often  tried  his  patience),  just  such  another  as  he  was  wont  to 
hear  when  he  rode  over  to  join  our  townspeople  at  their  festa? 
It  will  do  his  heart  good,  and  make  him  think  of  old  times ;  and 
perhaps  he  may  drop  a  couple  of  prayers  to  thex  Madonna  for  whoso 
had  a  hand  in  it. 

Lest  it  should  be  bruited  in  England  or  elsewhere,  that  being  in 
my  seventieth  year  I  have  unadvisedly  quitted  my  parish,  "  fond 
of  change,"  to  use  the  blessed  words  of  Saint  Paul,  I  am  ready  to 
show  the  certificate  of  Monsignore,  my  diocesan,  approving  of  my 
voyage.  Monsignore  was  pleased  to  think  me  capable  of  under- 
taking it,  telling  me  that  I  looked  hale,  spoke  without  quavering, 
and,  by  the  blessing  of  our  Lady,  had  nigh  upon  half  my  teeth  in 
their  sockets,  while,  pointing  to  his  own  and  shaking  his  head,  he 
repeated  the  celebrated  lines  of  Horatius  Flaccus,  who  lived  in  the 
reign  of  Augustus,  a  short  time  before  the  Incarnation, — 

"  Non  ebur,  sed  horridum 
Bucca  dehiscit  in  mea  lacuna !  " 

Then,  turning  the  discourse  from  so  melancholy  a  topic,  he  was 
pleased  to  relate  from  the  inexhaustible  stores  of  his  archaeolo- 
gical acquirements,  that  no  new  bell  whatever  had  been  consecrated 
in  his  diocese  of  Samminiato  since  the  year  of  our  Lord  1611  ;  in 
which  year,  on  the  first  Sunday  of  August,  a  thunderbolt  fell  into 
the  belfry  of  the  Duomo,  by  the  negligence  of  Canonico  Malatesta, 
who,  according  to  history,  in  his  hurry  to  dine  with  Conte  Geronimo 
Bardi,  at  our  San  Vivaldo,  omitted  a  word  in  the  Mass.  While  he 
was  playing  at  bowls  after  dinner  on  that  Sunday,  or,  as  some  will 
have  it,  while  he  was  beating  Ser  Matteo  Filicaia  at  backgammon, 
and  the  younger  men  and  ladies  of  those  two  noble  families  were 
bird-catching  with  the  civetta,  it  began  to  thunder;  and,  within  the 
evening,  intelligence  of  the  thunderbolt  was  brought  to  the  Can- 
onico. On  his  return  the  day  following  it  was  remarked,  says  the 
chronicler,  that  the  people  took  off  their  caps  at  the  distance  of  only 
two  or  three  paces  instead  of  fifteen  or  twenty,  and  few  stopped 
who  met  him  ;  for  the  rumor  had  already  gone  abroad  of  his  omis- 
sion. He  often  rode  as  usual  to  Conte  Geronimo's,  gammoned  Ser 
Matteo,  hooded  the  civetta,  limed  a  twig  or  two,  stood  behind  the 
spinette,  hummed  the  next  note,  turned  over  the  pages  of  the 
music-book  of  the  contessine,  beating  time  on  the  chair-back,  and 
showing  them  what  he  could  do  now  and  then  on  the  viola  di 
gamba.  Only  eight  years  had  elapsed,  when,  in  the  flower  of  his 
age  (for  he  had  scarcely  seen  sixty),  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed, 
after  as  hearty  and  convivial  a  supper  as  ever  Canonico  ate  !  No 
warning,  no  olio  santo,  no  viaticum,  poor  man  !  Candles  he  had  ; 
and  it  was  as  much  as  he  had,  poor  sinner!  And  this  also  hap- 


THE    EDITOR  S    INTRODUCTION.  XI 

pened  in  the  month  of  August!  Monsignore,  in  his  great  liberality, 
laid  no  heavy  stress  on  the  coincidence;  but  merely  said,  "Well, 
Pievano!  a  Mass  or  two  can  do  him  no  harm, —  let  us  hope  he 
stands  in  need  of  few  more;  but  when  you  happen  to  have  leisure, 
and  nobody  else  to  think  about,  prythee  clap  a  wet  clout  on  the  fire 
there  below  in  behalf  of  Canonico  Malatesta." 

I  have  done  it  gratis,  and  I  trust  he  finds  the  benefit  of  it.  In 
the  same  spirit  and  by  the  same  authority  I  gird  myself  for  this 
greater  enterprise.  Unable  to  form  a  satisfactory  opinion  on  the 
manuscript,  I  must  again  refer  to  my  superior.  It  is  the  opinion, 
then,  of  Monsignore  that  our  five  dialogues  were  written  down  by 
neither  of  the  interlocutors,  but  rather  by  some  intimate,  who  loved 
them  equally.  "For,"  said  Monsignore,  "it  was  the  practice  of 
Boccaccio  to  stand  up  among  his  personages,  and  to  take  part  him- 
self in  their  discourses.  Petrarca,  who  was  fonder  of  sheer  dia- 
logue and  had  much  practice  in  it,  never  acquired  any  dexterity  in 
this  species  of  composition,  it  being  all  question  and  answer, — 
short,  snappish,  quibbling,  and  uncomfortable.  I  speak  only  of  his 
"  Remedies  of  Adversity  and  Prosperity,"  which  indeed  leave  his 
wisdom  all  its  wholesomeness,  but  render  it  somewhat  apt  to  cleave 
to  the  roof  of  the  mouth.  The  better  parts  of  Homer  are  in  dia- 
logue;  and  downward  from  him  to  Galileo  the  noblest  works  of 
human  genius  have  assumed  this  form  :  among  the  rest  I  am  sorry 
to  find  no  few  heretics  and  scoffers.  At  the  present  day  the  fashion 
is  over;  every  man  pushes  every  other  man  behind  him,  and  will 
let  none  speak  out  but  himself." 

The  "Interviews"  took  place  not  within  the  walls  of  Certaldo, 
although  within  the  parish,  at  Boccaccio's  villa.  It  should  be  noti- 
fied to  the  curious,  that  about  this  ancient  town,  small,  deserted, 
dilapidated  as  it  is,  there  are  several  towers  and  turrets  yet  standing, 
one  of  which  belongs  to  the  mansion  inhabited  in  its  day  by  Ser 
Giovanni.  His  tomb  and  effigy  are  in  the  church.  Nobody  has 
opened  the  grave  to  throw  light  upon  his  relics ;  nobody  has  painted 
the  marble;  nobody  has  broken  off  a  foot  or  a  finger  to  do  him 
honor;  not  even  an  English  name  is  engraven  on  the  face,  al- 
though the  English  hold  confessedly  the  highest  rank  in  this  de- 
partment of  literature.  In  Italy,  and  particularly  in  Tuscany,  the 
remains  of  the  illustrious  are  inviolable;  and  among  the  illustri- 
ous, men  of  genius  hold  the  highest  rank.  The  arts  are  more  po- 
tent than  curiosity,  more  authoritative  than  churchwardens :  what 
Englishman  will  believe  it?  Well,  let  it  pass,  courteous  strangers  ! 
ye  shall  find  me  in  future  less  addicted  to  the  marvellous.  At 
present  I  have  only  to  lay  before  you  an  ancient  and  (doubt  it  not) 
an  authentic  account  of  what  passed  between  my  countrymen, 
Giovanni  and  Francesco,  before  they  parted  forever.  It  seemed 
probable  at  this  meeting  that  Giovanni  would  have  been  called  away 
first,  for  heavy  and  of  long  continuance  had  been  his  infirmity; 


Xll  THE    EDITOR  S    INTRODUCTION. 

but  he  outlived  it  three  whole  years.  He  could  not  outlive  his 
friend  so  many  months,  but  followed  him  to  the  tomb  before  he  had 
worn  the  glossiness  off  the  cloak  Francesco  in  his  will  bequeathed 
to  him. 

We  struggle  with  death  while  we  have  friends  around  to  cheer 
us :  the  moment  we  miss  them  we  lose  all  heart  for  the  contest. 
Pardon  my  reflection  !  I  ought  to  have  remembered  I  am  not  in 
my  stone  pulpit,  nor  at  home. 


PRETE  DOMENICO  GRIGI, 

Pievano  of  San  Vivaldo. 


LONDON,  October  i,  1836. 


THE    PENTAMERON. 


Boccaccio.  Who  is  he  that  entered,  and  now  steps  so  silently 
and  softly,  yet  with  a  foot  so  heavy  it  shakes  my  curtains? 

Frate  Biagio  !  can  it  possibly  be  you  ? 

No  more  physic  for  me,  nor  masses  neither,  at  present. 

Assunta  !  Assuntina  !  who  is  it  ? 

Assunta.     I  cannot  say,  Signor  Padrone  !   he  puts  his  fin 
ger  in  the  dimple  of  his  chin,  and  smiles  to  make  me  hold 
my  tongue. 

Boccaccio.  Fra  Biagio,  are  you  come  from  Samminiato  for 
this?  You  need  not  put  your  finger  there.  We  want  no  se- 
crets. The  girl  knows  her  duty  and  does  her  business.  I  have 
slept  well,  and  wake  better.  [Raising  himself  up  a  little. 

Why  !  who  are  you  ?  It  makes  my  eyes  ache  to  look  aslant 
over  the  sheets ;  and  I  cannot  get  to  sit  quite  upright  so  con- 
veniently ;  and  I  must  not  have  the  window-shutters  opener, 
they  tell  me. 

Petrarca.     Dear  Giovanni,  have  you  then  been  very  unwell  ? 

Boccaccio.  Oh,  that  sweet  voice  !  and  this  fat  friendly  hand 
of  thine,  Francesco  ! 

Thou  hast  distilled  all  the  pleasantest  flowers  and  all  the 
wholesomest  herbs  of  spring  into  my  breast  already. 

What  showers  we  have  had  this  April,  ay  !  How  could  you 
come  along  such  roads  ?  If  the  Devil  were  my  laborer,  I  would 
make  him  work  upon  these  of  Certaldo.  He  would  have  little 
time  and  little  itch  for  mischief  ere  he  had  finished  them,  but 
would  gladly  fan  himself  with  an  Agnus- castus,  and  go  to  sleep 
all  through  the  carnival. 

Petrarca.  Let  us  cease  to  talk  both  of  the  labor  and  the 
laborer.  You  have  then  been  dangerously  ill? 


PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.  I  do  not  know ;  they  told  me  I  was  ;  and  truly 
a  man  might  be  unwell  enough  who  has  twenty  masses  said  for 
him,  and  fain  sigh  when  he  thinks  what  he  has  paid  for  them. 
As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  they  cost  me  a  lira  each.  Assunta  is  a 
good  market-girl  in  eggs  and  mutton  and  cow-heel ;  but  I 
would  not  allow  her  to  argue  and  haggle  about  the  masses. 
Indeed,  she  knows  best  whether  they  were  not  fairly  worth  all 
that  was  asked  for  them,  although  I  could  have  bought  a  winter 
cloak  for  less  money.  However,  we  do  not  want  both  at  the 
same  time.  I  did  not  want  the  cloak :  I  wanted  them,  it 
seems.  And  yet  I  begin  to  think  God  would  have  had  mercy 
on  me  if  I  had  begged  it  of  him  myself  in  my  own  house. 
What  think  you? 

Petrarca.     I  think  he  might. 

Boccaccio.  Particularly  if  I  offered  him  the  sacrifice  on 
which  I  wrote  to  you. 

Petrarca.     That  letter  has  brought  me  hither. 

Boccaccio.  You  do  then  insist  on  my  fulfilling  my  promise, 
the  moment  I  can  leave  my  bed  ?  I  am  ready  and  willing. 

Petrarca.  Promise  !  none  was  made.  You  only  told  me 
that  if  it  pleased  God  to  restore  you  to  your  health  again,  you 
are  ready  to  acknowledge  his  mercy  by  the  holocaust  of  your 
"  Decameron."  What  proof  have  you  that  God  would  exact  it? 
If  you  could  destroy  the  "  Inferno"  of  Dante,  would  you? 

Boccaccio.  Not  I,  upon  my  life  !  I  would  not  promise  to 
burn  a  copy  of  it  on  the  condition  of  a  recovery  for  twenty 
years. 

Petrarca.  You  are  the  only  author  who  would  not  rather 
demolish  another's  work  than  his  own,  especially  if  he  thought 
it  better :  a  thought  which  seldom  goes  beyond  suspicion. 

Boccaccio.  I  am  not  jealous  of  any  one  :  I  think  admiration 
pleasanter.  Moreover,  Dante  and  I  did  not  come  forward  at 
the  same  time,  nor  take  the  same  walks.  His  flames  are  too 
fierce  for  you  and  me  :  we  had  trouble  enough  with  milder. 
I  never  felt  any  high  gratification  in  hearing  of  people  being 
damned  ;  and  much  less  would  I  toss  them  into  the  fire  myself. 
I  might  indeed  have  put  a  nettle  under  the  nose  of  the  learned 
judge  in  Florence  when  he  banished  you  and  your  family ;  but 
I  hardly  think  I  could  have  voted  for  more  than  a  scourging  to 
the  foulest  and  fiercest  of  the  party. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  3 

Petrarca.  Be  as  compassionate,  be  as  amiably  irresolute, 
toward  your  own  "  Novelle,"  which  have  injured  no  friend  of 
yours,  and  deserve  more  affection. 

Boccaccio.  Francesco  !  no  character  I  ever  knew,  ever 
heard  of,  or  ever  feigned,  deserves  the  same  affection  as  you 
do ;  the  tenderest  lover,  the  truest  friend,  the  firmest  patriot, 
and,  rarest  of  glories  !  the  poet  who  cherishes  another's  fame 
as  dearly  as  his  own. 

Petrarca.  If  aught  of  this  is  true,  let  it  be  recorded  of  me 
that  my  exhortations  and  entreaties  have  been  successful  in  pre- 
serving the  works  of  the  most  imaginative  and  creative  genius 
that  our  Italy,  or  indeed  our  world,  hath  in  any  age  beheld. 

Boccaccio.  I  would  not  destroy  his  poems,  as  I  told  you, 
or  think  I  told  you.  Even  the  worst  of  the  Florentines,  who 
in  general  keep  only  one  of  God's  commandments,  keep  it 
rigidly  in  regard  to  Dante, — 

"  Love  them  who  curse  you.' 

He  called  them  all  scoundrels,  with  somewhat  less  courtesy 
than  cordiality,  and  less  afraid  of  censure  for  veracity  than  ad- 
ulation ;  he  sent  their  fathers  to  hell,  with  no  inclination  to 
separate  the  child  and  parent,  and  now  they  are  hugging  him 
for  it  in  his  shroud  !  Would  you  ever  have  suspected  them 
of  being  such  lovers  of  justice? 

You  must  have  mistaken  my  meaning;  the  thought  never 
entered  my  head  :  the  idea  of  destroying  a  single  copy  of 
Dante  !  And  what  effect  would  that  produce  ?  There  must 
be  fifty,  or  near  it,  in  various  parts  of  Italy. 

Petrarca.     I  spoke  of  you. 

Boccaccio.  Of  me  !  My  poetry  is  vile ;  I  have  already 
thrown  into  the  fire  all  of  it  within  my  reach. 

Petrarca.  Poetry  was  not  the  question.  We  neither  of  us 
are  such  poets  as  we  thought  ourselves  when  we  were  younger, 
and  as  younger  men  think  us  still.  I  meant  your  "  Decameron," 
in  which  there  is  more  character,  more  nature,  more  invention, 
than  either  modern  or  ancient  Italy,  or  than  Greece,  from 
whom  she  derived  her  whole  inheritance,  ever  claimed  or  ever 
knew.  Would  you  consume  a  beautiful  meadow  because  there 
are  reptiles  in  it;  or  because  a  few  grubs  hereafter  may  be 
generated  by  the  succulence  of  the  grass? 


4  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.     You  amaze  me  :  you  utterly  confound  me. 

Petrarca.  If  you  would  eradicate  twelve  or  thirteen  of  the 
"  Novelle,"  and  insert  the  same  number  of  better,  which  you 
could  easily  do  within  as  many  weeks,  I  should  be  heartily  glad  to 
see  it  done.  Little  more  than  a  tenth  of  the  "  Decameron  "  is 
bad  ;  less  than  a  twentieth  of  the  "  Divina  Commedia  "  is  good. 

Boccaccio.     So  little? 

Petrarca.     Let  me  never  seem  irreverent  to  our  master. 

Boccaccio.  Speak  plainly  and  fearlessly,  Francesco  !  Malice 
and  detraction  are  strangers  to  you. 

Petrarca.  Well,  then,  at  least  sixteen  parts  in  twenty  of  the 
"  Inferno  "  and  "  Purgatorio  "  are  detestable,  both  in  poetry  and 
principle  :  the  higher  parts  are  excellent  indeed. 

Boccaccio.  I  have  been  reading  the  "  Paradiso  "  more  re- 
cently. Here  it  is,  under  the  pillow.  It  brings  me  happier 
dreams  than  the  others,  and  takes  no  more  time  in  bringing 
them.  Preparation  for  my  lectures  made  me  remember  a 
great  deal  of  the  poem.  I  did  not  request  my  auditors  to  ad- 
mire the  beauty  of  the  metrical  version, — 

"  Osanna  sanctus  deus  Sabbaoth, 
Super-illustrans  charitate  tua 
Felices  ignes  horum  Malahoth  ;  " 

nor  these,  with  a  slip  of  Italian  between  two  pales  of  Latin : 

"  Modicum,1  et  non  videbitis  me, 
Et  iterum,  sorelle  mie  dilette, 
Modicum,  et  vos  videbitis  me." 

I  dare  not  repeat  all  I  recollect  of — 

"  Pepe  Setan,  Pepe  Setan,  aleppe," 

as  there  is  no  holy-water  sprinkler  in  the  room  :  and  you  are 
aware  that  other  dangers  awaited  me,  had  I  been  so  imprudent 
as  to  show  the  Florentines  the  allusion  of  our  poet.  His  gergo 
is  perpetually  in  play,  and  sometimes  plays  very  roughly. 

Petrarca.  We  will  talk  again  of  him  presently.  I  must 
now  rejoice  with  you  over  the  recovery  and  safety  of  your 
prodigal  son,  the  "  Decameron." 

1  It  may  puzzle  an  Englishman  to  read  the  lines  beginning  with  Modi- 
cum, so  as  to  give  the  metre.  The  secret  is,  to  draw  out  et  into  a  dissyl- 
lable, et-te,  as  the  Italians  do,  who  pronounce  Latin  verse,  if  possible, 
worse  than  we,  adding  a  syllable  to  such  as  end  with  a  consonant. 


THE    PENTAMEROX.  5 

Boccaccio.  So,  then,  you  would  preserve  at  any  rate  my  fa- 
vorite volume  from  the  threatened  conflagration. 

Petrarca.  Had  I  lived  at  the  time  of  Dante,  I  would  have 
given  him  the  same  advice  in  the  same  circumstances.  Yet 
how  different  is  the  tendency  of  the  two  productions  !  Yours  is 
somewhat  too  licentious ;  and  young  men,  in  whose  nature,  or 
rather  in  whose  education  and  habits,  there  is  usually  this  fail- 
ing, will  read  you  with  more  pleasure  than  is  commendable  or 
innocent.  Yet  the  very  time  they  occupy  with  you  would  per- 
haps be  spent  in  the  midst  of  those  excesses  or  irregularities 
to  which  the  moralist,  in  his  utmost  severity,  will  argue  that 
your  pen  directs  them.  Now,  there  are  many  who  are  fond  of 
standing  on  the  brink  of  precipices,  and  who  nevertheless  are 
as  cautious  as  any  of  falling  in.  And  there  are  minds  desirous 
of  being  warmed  by  description,  which,  without  this  warmth, 
might  seek  excitement  among  the  things  described. 

I  would  not  tell  you  in  health  what  I  tell  you  in  convales- 
cence, nor  urge  you  to  compose  what  I  dissuade  you  from  can- 
celling. After  this  avowal,  I  do  declare  to  you,  Giovanni,  that 
in  my  opinion  the  very  idlest  of  your  tales  will  do  the  world 
as  much  good  as  evil,  —  not  reckoning  the  pleasure  of  reading, 
nor  the  exercise  and  recreation  of  the  mind,  which  in  them- 
selves are  good.  What  I  reprove  you  for,  is  the  indecorous 
and  uncleanly;  and  these,  I  trust,  you  will  abolish.  Even 
these,  however,  may  repel  from  vice  the  ingenuous  and  grace- 
ful spirit,  and  can  never  lead  any  such  toward  them.  Never 
have  you  taken  an  inhuman  pleasure  in  blunting  and  fusing  the 
affections  at  the  furnace  of  the  passions ;  never,  in  hardening, 
by  sour  sagacity  and  ungenial  strictures,  that  delicacy  which  is 
more  productive  of  innocence  and  happiness,  more  estranged 
from  every  track  and  tendency  of  their  opposites,  than  what  in 
cold  crude  systems  hath  holden  the  place  and  dignity  of  the 
highest  virtue.  May  you  live,  O  my  friend,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  health,  to  substitute  the  facetious  for  the  licentious,  the  sim- 
ple for  the  extravagant,  the  true  and  characteristic  for  the  in- 
definite and  diffuse. 

Boccaccio.  I  dare  not  defend  myself  under  the  bad  exam- 
ple of  any  :  and  the  bad  example  of  a  great  man  is  the  worst 
defence  of  all.  Since  however  you  have  mentioned  Messer 
Dante  Alighieri,  to  whose  genius  I  never  thought  of  approach- 


O  THE    PEXTAMERON. 

ing,  I  may  perhaps  have  been  formerly  the  less  cautious  of 
offending  by  my  levity,  after  seeing  him  display  as  much  or 
more  of  it  in  hell  itself. 

Petrarca.  The  best  apology  for  Dante,  in  his  poetical  char- 
acter, is  presented  by  the  indulgence  of  criticism,  in  consider- 
ing the  "  Inferno  "  and  "  Purgatorio  "  as  a  string  of  Satires,  part 
in  narrative  and  part  in  action ;  which  renders  the  title  of  "  Corn- 
media  "  more  applicable.  The  filthiness  of  some  passages  would 
disgrace  the  drunkenest  horse-dealer;  and  the  names  of  such 
criminals  are  recorded  by  the  poet  as  would  be  forgotten  by 
the  hangman  in  six  months.  I  wish  I  could  expatiate  rather 
On  his  injudiciousness  than  on  his  ferocity,  in  devising  punish- 
ments for  various  crimes ;  or  rather,  than  on  his  malignity  in 
composing  catalogues  of  criminals  to  inflict  them  on.  Among 
the  rest  we  find  a  gang  of  coiners.  He  calls  by  name  all  the 
rogues  and  vagabonds  of  every  city  in  Tuscany,  and  curses 
every  city  for  not  sending  him  more  of  them.  You  would 
fancy  that  Pisa  might  have  contented  him ;  no  such  thing. 
He  hoots,  — 

"Ah,  Pisa  !  scandal  to  the  people  in  whose  fine  country  si 
means  yes,  why  are  thy  neighbors  slack  to  punish  thee  ?  May 
Capraia  and  Gorgona  stop  up  the  mouth  of  the  Arno,  and 
drown  every  soul  within  thee  ! " 

Boccaccio.  None  but  a  prophet  is  privileged  to  swear  and 
curse  at  this  rate,  and  several  of  those  got  broken  heads  for  it. 

Petrarca.  It  did  not  happen  to  Dante,  though  he  once 
was  very  near  it,  in  the  expedition  of  the  exiles  to  recover  the 
city.  Scarcely  had  he  taken  breath  after  this  imprecation 
against  the  Pisans,  than  he  asks  the  Genoese  why  such  a  parcel 
of  knaves  as  themselves  were  not  scattered  over  the  face  01 
the  earth. 

Boccaccio.  Here  he  is  equitable.  I  wonder  he  did  not  in- 
cline to  one  or  other  of  these  rival  republics. 

Petrarca.  In  fact,  the  Genoese  fare  a  trifle  better  under 
him  than  his  neighbors  the  Pisans  do. 

Boccaccio.  Because  they  have  no  Gorgona  and  Capraia  to 
block  them  up.  He  cannot  do  all  he  wishes,  but  he  does  all 
he  can,  considering  the  means  at  his  disposal.  In  like  manner 
Messer  Gregorio  Peruzzi,  when  he  was  tormented  by  the  quar- 
rels and  conflicts  of  Messer  Gino  Ubaldini's  trufle-dog  at  the 


THE    PENTAMERON.  7 

next  door,  and  Messer  Guidone  Fantecchi's  e;hop-dog,  whose 
title  and  quality  are  in  abeyance,  swore  bitterly,  and  called  the 
Virgin  and  Saint  Catherine  to  witness,  that  he  would  cut  off 
their  tails  if  ever  he  caught  them.  His  cook,  Niccolo  Buonac- 
corsi,  hoping  to  gratify  his  master,  set  baits  for  them,  and  cap- 
tured them  both  in  the  kitchen.  But  unwilling  to  cast  hands 
prematurely  on  the  delinquents,  he,  after  rating  them  for  their 
animosities  and  their  ravages,  bethought  himself  in  what  man- 
ner he  might  best  conduct  his  enterprise  to  a  successful  issue. 
He  was  the  rather  inclined  to  due  deliberation  in  these  coun- 
sels, as  they,  laying  aside  their  private  causes  of  contention  in 
front  of  their  common  enemy,  and  turning  the  principal  stream 
of  their  ill-blood  into  another  channel,  agreed  in  demonstra- 
tions which  augured  no  little  indocility.  Messer  Gregorio 
hath  many  servants,  and  moreover  all  the  conveniences  which 
so  plenteous  a  house  requires.  Among  the  rest  is  a  long 
hempen  cloth  suspended  by  a  roller.  Niccolo,  in  the  most 
favorable  juncture,  was  minded  to  slip  this  hempen  cloth  over 
the  two  culprits,  whose  consciences  had  made  them  slink  toward 
the  door  against  which  it  was  fastened.  The  smell  of  it  was  not 
unsatisfactory  to  them,  and  an  influx  of  courage  had  nearly  borne 
away  the  worst  suspicions.  At  this  instant,  while  shrewd  in- 
quisitiveness  and  incipient  hunger  were  regaining  the  ascend- 
ency, Niccolo  Buonaccorsi,  with  all  the  sagacity  and  courage, 
all  the  promptitude  and  timeliness  of  his  profession,  covered 
both  conspirators  in  the  inextricable  folds  of  the  fatal  winding- 
sheet,  from  which  their  heads  alone  emerged.  Struggles  and 
barkings  and  exhibitions  of  teeth  and  plunges  forward  were 
equally  ineffectual.  He  continued  to  twist  it  about  them,  un- 
til the  notes  of  resentment  partook  of  remonstrance  and  pain : 
but  he  told  them  plainly  he  would  never  remit  a  jot,  unless 
they  became  more  domesticated  and  reasonable.  In  this  state 
of  exhaustion  and  contrition  he  brought  them  into  the  presence 
of  Ser  Gregorio,  who  immediately  turned  round  toward  the 
wall,  crossed  himself,  and  whispered  an  ave.  At  ease  and 
happy  as  he  was  at  the  accomplishment  of  a  desire  so  long 
cherished,  no  sooner  had  he  expressed  his  piety  at  so  gracious 
a  dispensation,  than,  reverting  to  the  captor  and  the  captured, 
he  was  seized  with  unspeakable  consternation.  He  discovered 
at  once  that  he  had  made  as  rash  a  vow  as  Jephtha's.  Alas  ! 
one  of  the  children  of  captivity,  the  trufle-dog,  had  no  tail ! 


8  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Fortunately  for  Messer  Gregorio,  he  found  a  friend  among  the 
White  Friars,  Frate  Geppone  Pallorco,  who  told  him  that  when 
we  cannot  do  a  thing  promised  by  vow,  whether  we  fail  by 
moral  inability  or  by  physical,  we  must  do  the  thing  nearest  it ; 
"  which, "  said  Fra  Geppone,  "  hath  always  been  my  practice. 
And  now,"  added  this  cool  considerate  white  friar,  "  a  dog' 
may  have  no  tail,  and  yet  be  a  dog  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
and  enable  a  good  Christian  to  perform  anything  reasonable  he 
promised  in  his  behalf.  Whereupon  I  would  advise  you,  Mes- 
ser Gregorio,  out  of  the  loving  zeal  I  bear  toward  the  whole 
family  of  the  Peruzzi,  to  amerce  him  of  that  which,  if  not  tail, 
is  next  to  tail.  Such  function,  I  doubt  not,  will  satisfactorily 
show  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  Saint  Catherine,  your  readiness 
and  solicitude  to  perform  the  vow  solemnly  made  before  those 
two  adorable  ladies,  your  protectresses  and  witnesses."  Ser 
Gregorio  bent  his  knee  at  first  hearing  their  names,  again  at 
the  mention  of  them  in  this  relationship  toward  him,  called  for 
the  kitchen  knife,  and,  in  absolving  his  promise,  had  lighter 
things  to  deal  with  than  Gorgona  and  Capraia. 

Petrarca.  Giovanni !  this  will  do  instead  of  one  among  the 
worst  of  the  hundred  :  but  with  little  expenditure  of  labor  you 
may  afford  us  a  better. 

Our  great  fellow- citizen  —  if  indeed  we  may  denominate  him 
a  citizen  who  would  have  left  no  city  standing  in  Italy,  and  less 
willingly  his  native  one  —  places  in  the  mouth  of  the  Devil,  to- 
gether with  Judas  Iscariot,  the  defenders  of  their  country,  and 
the  best  men  in  it,  Brutus  and  Cassius.  Certainly  his  feeling 
of  patriotism  was  different  from  theirs. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  imagine  that  it  subjected  him  to  any 
harder  mouth  or  worse  company  than  his  own,  although  in  a 
spirit  so  contrary  to  that  of  the  two  Romans  he  threatened  us 
Florentines  with  the  sword  of  Germans.  The  two  Romans, 
now  in  the  mouth  of  the  Devil,  chose  rather  to  lose  their  lives 
than  to  see  their  country,  not  under  the  government  of  invad- 
ers, but  of  magistrates  from  their  own  city  placed  irregularly 
over  them,  and  the  laws,  not  subverted,  but  administered  un- 
constitutionally. That  Frenchmen  and  Austrians  should  argue 
and  think  in  this  manner  is  no  wonder,  no  inconsistency :  that 
a  Florentine,  the  wisest  and  greatest  of  Florentines,  should  have 
done  it,  is  portentous. 

How  merciful  is  the  Almighty,  O  Giovanni !  What  an  argu- 


THE    PENTAMERON.  9 

ment  is  here  !  how  much  stronger  and  more  convincing  than 
philosophers  could  devise  or  than  poets  could  utter  unless 
from  inspiration,  against  the  placing  of  power  in  the  hands  of 
one  man  only,  when  the  highest  genius  at  that  time  in  the 
world,  or  perhaps  at  any  time,  betrays  a  disposition  to  employ 
it  with  such  a  licentiousness  of  inhumanity. 

Boccaccio.  He  treats  Nero  with  greater  civility :  yet  Bru- 
tus and  Cassius,  at  worst,  but  slew  an  atheist,  while  the  other 
rogue  flamed  forth  like  the  pestilential  dogstar,  and  burnt  up 
the  first  crop  of  Christians  to  light  the  ruins  of  Rome.  And 
the  artist  of  these  ruins  thought  no  more  of  his  operation  than 
a  scene-painter  would  have  done  at  the  theatre. 

Petrarca.  Historians  have  related  that  Rome  was  consumed 
by  Nero  for  the  purpose  of  suppressing  the  rising  sect,  by  lay- 
ing all  the  blame  on  it.  Do  you  think  he  cared  what  sect  fell 
or  what  sect  rose  ?  Was  he  a  zealot  in  religion  of  any  kind  ? 
I  am  sorry  to  see  a  lying  spirit  the  most  prevalent  one,  in  some 
among  the  earliest  and  firmest  holders  of  that  religion  which 
is  founded  on  truth  and  singleness  of  intention.  There  are 
pious  men  who  believe  they  are  rendering  a  service  to  God  by 
bearing  false  witness  in  his  favor,  and  who  call  on  the  Father  of 
Lies  to  hold  up  his  light  before  the  Sun  of  righteousness. 

We  may  mistake  the  exact  day  when  the  conflagration  be- 
gan :  certain  it  is,  however,  that  it  was  in  summer ; l  and  it  is 
presumable  that  the  commencement  of  the  persecution  was 
in  winter,  since  Juvenal  represents  the  persecuted  as  serving 
for  lamps  in  the  streets.  Now,  as  the  Romans  did  not  fre- 
quent the  theatres  nor  other  places  of  public  entertainment 
by  night,  such  conveniences  were  uncalled  for  in  summer,  a 
season  when  the  people  retired  to  rest  betimes,  from  the  same 
motive  as  at  present,  —  the  insalubrity  of  the  evening  air  in  the 
hot  weather.  Nero  must  have  been  very  forbearing  if  he 
waited  those  many  months  before  he  punished  a  gang  of  in- 
cendiaries. Such  clemency  is  unexampled  in  milder  princes. 

Boccaccio.  But  the  Christians  were  not  incendiaries,  and 
he  knew  they  were  not. 

Petrarca.  It  may  be  apprehended  that  among  the  many  vir- 
tuous of  the  new  believers  a  few  seditious  were  also  to  be 

1  Des  Vignolles  has  calculated  that  the  conflagration  began  on  the  igth 
of  July,  in  the  year  64,  and  the  persecution  on  the  1 5th  of  November. 


IO  THE    PENTAMERON. 

found,  forming  separate  and  secret  associations,  choosing  gen- 
erals or  superiors  to  whom  they  swore  implicit  obedience,  and 
under  whose  guidance  or  impulse  they  were  ready  to  resist, 
and  occasionally  to  attack,  the  magistrates,  and  even  the 
prince,  —  men  aspiring  to  rule  the  state  by  carrying  the  sword 
of  assassination  under  the  garb  of  holiness.  Such  persons  are 
equally  odious  to  the  unenlightened  and  the  enlightened,  to 
the  arbitrary  and  the  free.  In  the  regular  course  of  justice, 
their  crimes  would  have  been  resisted  by  almost  as  much  se- 
verity as  they  appear  to  have  undergone  from  despotic  power 
and  popular  indignation. 

Boccaccio.  We  will  talk  no  longer  about  these  people.  But 
since  the  Devil  has  really  and  bond  fide  Brutus  and  Cassius  in 
his  mouth,  I  would  advise  him  to  make  the  most  of  them,  for 
he  will  never  find  two  more  such  morsels  on  the  same  platter. 
Kings,  emperors,  and  popes  would  be  happy  to  partake  with 
him  of  so  delicate  and  choice  a  repast ;  but  I  hope  he  has 
fitter  fare  for  them. 

Messer  Dante  Alighieri  does  not  indeed  make  the  most 
gentle  use  of  the  company  he  has  about  him  in  hell  and 
purgatory.  Since  however  he  hath  such  a  selection  of  them, 
I  wish  he  could  have  been  contented,  and  could  have  left 
our  fair  Florentines  to  their  own  fancies  in  their  dressing- 
rooms. 

"  The  time,"  he  cries,  "  is  not  far  distant,  when  there  will 
be  an  indictment  on  parchment,  forbidding  the  impudent 
young  Florentines  to  show  their  breasts  and  nipples." 

Now,  Francesco,  I  have  been  subject  all  my  life  to  a  strange 
distemper  in  the  eyes,  which  no  oculist  can  cure,  and  which, 
while  it  allows  me  to  peruse  the  smallest  character  in  the  very 
worst  female  hand,  would  never  let  me  read  an  indictment  on 
parchment  where  female  names  are  implicated,  although  the 
letters  were  a  finger  in  length.  I  do  believe  the  same  distem- 
per was  very  prevalent  in  the  time  of  Messer  Dante ;  and 
those  Florentine  maids  and  matrons  who  were  not  afflicted  by 
it,  were  too  modest  to  look  at  letters  and  signatures  stuck 
against  the  walls. 

He  goes  on,  "  Was  there  ever  girl  among  the  Moors  or  Sara- 
cens, on  whom  it  was  requisite  to  inflict  spiritual  or  other  dis- 
cipline to  make  her  go  covered?  " 


THE    PEXTAMERON.  I  I 

Some  of  the  other  discipline,  which  the  spiritual  guides  were 
and  are  still  in  the  habit  of  administering,  have  exactly  the 
contrary  effect  to  make  them  go  covered,  whatsoever  may  be 
urged  by  the  confessor. 

"  If  the  shameless  creatures,"  he  continues,  "  were  aware  of 
the  speedy  chastisement  which  Heaven  is  preparing  for  them, 
they  would  at  this  instant  have  their  mouths  wide  open  to  roar 
withal." 

Petrarca.  This  is  not  very  exquisite  satire,  nor  much  better 
manners. 

Boccaccio.  Whenever  I  saw  a  pretty  Florentine  in  such  a 
condition,  I  lowered  my  eyes. 

Petrarca.     I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 

Boccaccio.  Those  whom  I  could  venture  to  cover,  I  cov- 
ered with  all  my  heart. 

Petrarca.  Humanely  done.  You  might  likewise  have  ad- 
ded some  gentle  admonition. 

Boccaccio.  They  would  have  taken  anything  at  my  hands 
rather  than  that.  Truly,  they  thought  themselves  as  wise  as 
they  thought  me  :  and  who  knows  but  they  were,  at  bottom  ? 

Petrarca.  I  believe  it  may,  in  general,  be  best  to  leave 
them  as  we  find  them. 

Boccaccio.  I  would  not  say  that,  neither.  Much  may  be  in 
vain,  but  something  sticks. 

Petrarca.  They  are  more  amused  than  settled  by  anything 
we  can  advance  against  them,  and  are  apt  to  make  light  of  the 
gravest.  It  is  only  the  hour  of  reflection  that  is  at  last  the 
hour  of  sedateness  and  improvement. 

Boccaccio.     Where  is  the  bell  that  strikes  it  ? 

Petrarca.  Fie  !  fie  !  Giovanni !  This  is  worse  than  the  in- 
dictment on  parchment. 

Boccaccio.  Women  like  us  none  the  less  for  joking  with 
them  about  their  foibles.  In  fact,  they  take  it  ill  when  we 
cease  to  do  so,  unless  it  is  age  that  compels  us.  We  may  give 
our  courser  the  rein  to  any  extent,  while  he  runs  in  the  com- 
mon field  and  does  not  paw  against  privacy,  nor  open  his  nos- 
trils on  individuality :  I  mean  the  individuality  of  the  person 
we  converse  with,  for  another's  is  pure  zest. 

Petrarca.  Surely,  you  can  not  draw  this  hideous  picture 
from  your  own  observation  :  has  any  graver  man  noted  it  ? 


12  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.  Who  would  believe  your  graver  men  upon  such 
matters?  Gout  and  gravel,  bile  and  sciatica,  are  the  uphol- 
sterers that  stuff  their  moral  sentences.  Crooked  and  cramp 
are  truths  written  with  chalk-stones.  When  people  like  me 
talk  as  I  have  been  talking,  they  may  be  credited.  We  have 
no  ill-will,  no  ill-humor,  to  gratify :  and  vanity  has  no  trial  here 
at  issue.  He  was  certainly  born  on  an  unlucky  day  for  his 
friends,  who  never  uttered  any  truths  but  unquestionable  ones. 
Give  me  food  that  exercises  my  teeth  and  tongue,  and  ideas 
that  exercise  my  imagination  and  discernment. 

Petrarca.  When  you  are  at  leisure,  and  in  perfect  health, 
weed  out  carefully  the  few  places  of  your  "  Decameron  "  which 
are  deficient  in  these  qualities. 

Boccaccio.  God  willing ;  I  wish  I  had  undertaken  it  when 
my  heart  was  lighter.  Is  there  anything  else  you  can  suggest 
for  its  improvement,  in  particular  or  in  general  ? 

Petrarca.  Already  we  have  mentioned  the  inconsiderate 
and  indecorous.  In  what  you  may  substitute  hereafter,  I  would 
say  to  you,  as  I  have  said  to  myself,  do  not  be  on  all  occasions 
too  ceremonious  in  the  structure  of  your  sentences. 

Boccaccio.  You  would  surely  wish  me  to  be  round  and  po- 
lished. Why  do  you  smile  ? 

Petrarca.  I  am  afraid  these  qualities  are  often  of  as  little 
advantage  in  composition  as  they  are  corporeally.  When  ac- 
tion and  strength  are  chiefly  the  requisites,  we  may  perhaps  be 
better  with  little  of  them.  The  modulations  of  voice  and  lan- 
guage are  infinite.  Cicero  has  practised  many  of  them ;  but 
Cicero  has  his  favorite  swells,  his  favorite  flourishes  and  caden- 
ces. Our  Italian  language  is  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  ampler 
scope  and  compass ;  and  we  are  liberated  from  the  horrible 
sounds  of  us,  am,  um,  ant,  int,  unt,  so  predominant  in  the 
finals  of  Latin  nouns  and  verbs.  We  may  be  told  that  they 
give  strength  to  the  dialect :  we  might  as  well  be  told  that 
bristles  give  strength  to  the  boar.  In  our  Italian  we  possess 
the  privilege  of  striking  off  the  final  vowel  from  the  greater 
part  of  masculine  nouns,  and  from  the  greater  part  of  tenses 
in  the  verbs,  when  we  believe  they  impede  our  activity  and 
vigor. 

Boccaccio.  We  are  as  wealthy  in  words  as  is  good  for  us ; 
and  she  who  gave  us  these  would  give  us  more  if  needful.  In 


THE   PENTAMERON.  13 

another  age  it  is  probable  that  curtailments  will  rather  be  made 
than  additions ;  for  it  was  so  with  the  Latin  and  Greek.  Bar- 
baric luxury  sinks  down  into  civic  neatness,  and  chaster  orna- 
ments fill  rooms  of  smaller  dimensions. 

Petrarca.  Cicero  came  into  possession  of  the  stores  col- 
lected by  Plautus,  which  he  always  held  very  justly  in  the  high- 
est estimation ;  and  Sallust  is  reported  to  have  misapplied  a 
part  of  them.  At  his  death  they  were  scattered  and  lost. 

Boccaccio.  I  am  wiser  than  I  was  when  I  studied  the  noble 
orator,  and  wiser  by  his  means  chiefly.  In  return  for  his  ben- 
efits, if  we  could  speak  on  equal  terms  together,  —  the  novelist 
with  the  philosopher,  the  citizen  of  Certaldo  with  the  Roman 
consul,  —  I  would  fain  whisper  in  his  ear,  "  Escape  from  rhet- 
oric by  all  manner  of  means :  and  if  you  must  cleave  (as 
indeed  you  must)  to  that  old  shrew  Logic,  be  no  fonder  of 
exhibiting  her  than  you  would  be  of  a  plain  economical  wife. 
Let  her  be  always  busy,  never  intrusive,  and  readier  to  keep  the 
chambers  clean  and  orderly  than  to  expatiate  on  their  propor- 
tions or  to  display  their  furniture." 

Petrarca.  The  citizen  of  Certaldo  is  fifty-fold  more  richly 
endowed  with  genius  than  the  Roman  consul,  and  might 
properly  — 

Boccaccio.  Stay  !  stay  !  Francesco  !  or  they  will  shave  all  the 
rest  of  thy  crown  for  thee.  and  physic  thee  worse  than  me. 

Petrarca.  Middling  men,  favored  in  their  lifetime  by  cir- 
cumstances, often  appear  of  higher  stature  than  belongs  to 
them ;  great  men  always  of  lower.  Time,  the  sovereign,  in- 
vests with  befitting  raiment  and  distinguishes  with  proper  en- 
signs the  familiars  he  has  received  into  his  eternal  habitations  : 
in  these  alone  are  they  deposited, —  you  must  wait  for  them. 

No  advice  is  less  necessary  to  you  than  the  advice  to  express 
your  meaning  as  clearly  as  you  can.  Where  the  purpose  of 
glass  is  to  be  seen  through,  we  do  not  want  it  tinted  or  wavy. 
In  certain  kinds  of  poetry  the  case  may  be  slightly  different, — 
such,  for  instance,  as  are  intended  to  display  the  powers  of 
association  and  combination  in  the  writer,  and  to  invite  and 
exercise  the  compass  and  comprehension  of  the  intelligent. 
Pindar  and  the  Attic  tragedians  wrote  in  this  manner,  and 
rendered  the  minds  of  their  audience  more  alert  and  ready  and 
capacious.  They  found  some  fit  for  them,  and  made  others. 


14  THE   PENTAMERON. 

Great  painters  have  always  the  same  task  to  perform.  What 
is  excellent  in  their  art  cannot  be  thought  excellent  by  many, 
even  of  those  who  reason  well  on  ordinary  matters,  and  see 
clearly  beauties  elsewhere.  All  correct  perceptions  are  the 
effect  of  careful  practice.  We  little  doubt  that  a  mirror  would 
direct  us  in  the  most  familiar  of  our  features,  and  that  our 
hand  would  follow  its  guidance,  until  we  try  to  cut  a  lock  of 
our  hair.  We  have  no  such  criterion  to  demonstrate  our  lia- 
bility to  error  in  judging  of  poetry, —  a  quality  so  rare  that 
perhaps  no  five  contemporaries  ever  were  masters  of  it. 

Boccaccio.  We  admire  by  tradition  ;  we  censure  by  caprice  ; 
and  there  is  nothing  in  which  we  are  more  ingenious  and  in- 
ventive. A  wrong  step  in  politics  sprains  a  foot  in  poetry ; 
eloquence  is  never  so  unwelcome  as  when  it  issues  from  a 
familiar  voice ;  and  praise  hath  no  echo  but  from  a  certain 
distance.  Our  critics,  who  know  little  about  them,  would 
gaze  with  wonder  at  anything  similar  in  our  days  to  Pindar 
and  Sophocles,  and  would  cast  it  aside,  as  quite  impracticable. 
They  are  in  the  right,  for  sonnet  and  canzonet  charm  greater 
numbers.  There  are  others,  or  may  be  hereafter,  to  whom  far 
other  things  will  afford  far  higher  gratification. 

Petrarca.  But  our  business  at  present  is  with  prose  and 
Cicero ;  and  our  question  now  is,  what  is  Ciceronian.  He 
changed  his  style  according  to  his  matter  and  his  hearers. 
His  speeches  to  the  people  vary  from  his  speeches  to  the 
senate.  Toward  the  one  he  was  impetuous  and  exacting ;  toward 
the  other  he  was  usually  but  earnest  and  anxious,  and  some- 
times but  submissive  and  imploring,  yet  equally  unwilling  on 
both  occasions  to  conceal  the  labor  he  had  taken  to  captivate 
their  attention  and  obtain  success.  At  the  tribunal  of  Caesar 
the  Dictator  he  laid  aside  his  costly  armor,  contracted  the 
folds  of  his  capacious  robe,  and  became  calm,  insinuating,  and 
adulative,  showing  his  spirit  not  utterly  extinguished,  his  dignity 
not  utterly  fallen,  his  consular  year  not  utterly  abolished  from 
his  memory,  but  Rome,  and  even  himself,  lowered  in  the 
presence  of  his  judge. 

Boccaccio.  And  after  all  this,  can  you  bear  to  think  what 
I  am? 

Petrarca.  Complacently  and  joyfully  ;  venturing,  neverthe- 
less, to  offer  you  a  friend's  advice. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  15 

Enter  into  the  mind  and  heart  of  your  own  creatures ;  think 
of  them  long,  entirely,  solely, —  never  of  style,  never  of  self, 
never  of  critics,  cracked  or  sound.  Like  the  miles  of  an  open 
country,  and  of  an  ignorant  population,  when  they  are  cor- 
rectly measured  they  become  smaller.  In  the  loftiest  rooms 
and  richest  entablatures  are  suspended  the  most  spider-webs ; 
and  the  quarry  out  of  which  palaces  are  erected  is  the  nursery 
of  nettle  and  bramble. 

Boccaccio.  It  is  better  to  keep  always  in  view  such  writers 
as  Cicero,  than  to  run  after  those  idlers  who  throw  stones  that 
can  never  reach  us. 

Petrarca.  If  you  copied  him  to  perfection,  and  on  no  occa- 
sion lost  sight  of  him,  you  would  be  an  indifferent,  not  to  say  a 
bad  writer. 

Boccaccio.  I  begin  to  think  you  are  in  the  right.  Well,  then, 
retrenching  some  of  my  licentious  tales,  I  must  endeavor  to 
fill  up  the  vacancy  with  some  serious  and  some  pathetic. 

Petrarca.  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  of  this  decision ;  for, 
admirable  as  you  are  in  the  jocose,  you  descend  from  your 
natural  position  when  you  come  to  the  convivial  and  the  festive. 
You  were  placed  among  the  Affections,  to  move  and  master 
them,  and  gifted  with  the  rod  that  sweetens  the  fount  of  tears. 
My  nature  leads  me  also  to  the  pathetic  ;  in  which,  however,  an 
imbecile  writer  may  obtain  celebrity.  Even  the  hard-hearted 
are  fond  of  such  reading  when  they  are  fond  of  any,  and 
nothing  is  easier  in  the  world  than  to  find  and  accumulate  its 
sufferings.  Yet  this  very  profusion  and  luxuriance  of  misery  is 
the  reason  why  few  have  excelled  in  describing  it.  The  eye 
wanders  over  the  mass  without  noticing  the  peculiarities ;  to 
mark  them  distinctly  is  the  work  of  genius, —  a  work  so  rarely 
performed,  that,  if  time  and  snace  may  be  compared,  speci- 
mens of  it  stand  at  wider  distances  than  the  trophies  of  Sesos- 
tris.  Here  we  return  again  to  the  "  Inferno  "  of  Dante,  who 
overcame  the  difficulty.  In  this  vast  desert  are  its  greater  and 
its  less  oasis, —  Ugolino  and  Francesca  di  Rimini.  The  peopled 
region  is  peopled  chiefly  with  monsters  and  mosquitoes :  the 
rest  for  the  most  part  is  sand  and  suffocation. 

Boccaccio.  Ah  !  had  Dante  remained  through  life  the  pure 
solitary  lover  of  Bice,  his  soul  had  been  gentler,  tranquiller, 
and  more  generous.  He  scarcely  hath  described  half  the 


1 6  THE    PENTAMERON. 

curses  he  went  through,  nor  the  roads  he  took  on  the  journey,  — 
theology,  politics,  and  that  barbican  of  the  "  Inferno  "  marriage, 
surrounded  with  its 

"  Selva  selvaggia  ed  aspra  e  forte." 

Admirable  is  indeed  the  description  of  Ugolino,  to  whoever 
can  endure  the  sight  of  an  old  soldier  gnawing  at  the  scalp  of  an 
old  archbishop. 

Petrarca.     The  thirty  lines  from 

"  Ed  io  sentj  " 

are  unequalled  by  any  other  continuous  thirty  in  the  whole 
dominions  of  poetry. 

Boccaccio.  Give  me  rather  the  six  on  Francesca :  for  if  in 
the  former  I  find  the  simple,  vigorous,  clear  narration,  I  find 
also  what  I  would  not  wish, —  the  features  of  Ugolino  reflected 
full  in  Dante.  The  two  characters  are  similar  in  them- 
selves,—  hard,  cruel,  inflexible,  malignant,  but  whenever  moved, 
moved  powerfully.  In  Francesca,  with  the  faculty  of  divine 
spirits,  he  leaves  his  own  nature  (not  indeed  the  exact  repre- 
sentative of  theirs)  and  converts  all  his  strength  into  tender- 
ness. The  great  poet,  like  the  original  man  of  the  Platonists, 
is  double,  possessing  the  further  advantage  of  being  able  to 
drop  one  half  at  his  option,  and  to  resume  it.  Some  of  the 
tenderest  on  paper  have  no  sympathies  beyond ;  and  some  of 
the  austerest  in  their  intercourse  with  their  fellow- creatures 
have  deluged  the  world  with  tears.  It  is  not  from  the  rose 
that  the  bee  gathers  her  honey,  but  often  from  the  most  acrid 
and  the  most  bitter  leaves  and  petals. 

"  Quando  legemmo  il  disiato  viso 

Esser  baciato  di  cotanto  amante, 
Questi,  chi  mai  da  me  non  sia  diviso! 

La  bocca  mi  bacio  tutto  tremante  — 
Galeotto  fii  il  libro,  e  chi  lo  scrisse  — 

Quel  giorno  piu  non  vi  legemmo  avante." 

In  the  midst  of  her  punishment,  Francesca,  when  she  comes  to 
the  tenderest  part  of  her  story,  tells  it  with  complacency  and 
delight ;  and  instead  of  naming  Paolo,  which  indeed  she  never 
has  done  from  the  beginning,  she  now  designates  him  as 

"Questi  chi  mai  da  me  non  sia  diviso!  " 


THE    PENTAMERON.  17 

Are  we  not  impelled  to  join  in  her  prayer,  wishing  them  hap- 
pier in  their  union? 

Petrarca.     If  there  be  no  sin  in  it. 

Boccaccio.     Ay,  and  even  if  there  be  —  God  help  us  ! 

What  a  sweet  aspiration  in  each  caesura  of  the  verse  !  —  three 
love-sighs  fixed  and  incorporate  !  Then,  when  she  hath  said 

"  La  bocca  mi  baci6,  tutto  tremante," 

she  stops  :  she  would  avert  the  eyes  of  Dante  from  her.  He 
looks  for  the  sequel :  she  thinks  he  looks  severely.  She  says, 
"Galeotto  is  the  name  of  the  book,"  fancying  by  this  timorous 
little  flight  she  has  drawn  him  far  enough  from  the  nest  of  her 
young  loves.  No,  the  eagle  beak  of  Dante  and  his  piercing 
eyes  are  yet  over  her. 

"  Galeotto  is  the  name  of  the  book." 

"What  matters  that?" 

"And  of  the  writer." 

"Or  that  either?" 

At  last  she  disarms  him  :   but  how? 

"  That  day  we  read  no  more." 

Such  a  depth  of  intuitive  judgment,  such  a  delicacy  of  per- 
ception, exists  not  in  any  other  work  of  human  genius,  —  and 
from  an  author  who  on  almost  all  occasions,  in  this  part  of  the 
work,  betrays  a  deplorable  want  of  it. 

Petrarca.  Perfection  of  poetry  !  The  greater  is  my  won- 
der at  discovering  nothing  else  of  the  same  order  or  cast  in 
this  whole  section  of  the  poem.  He  who  fainted  at  the  recital 
of  Francesca,  — 

"And  he  who  fell  as  a  dead  body  falls,"  — 

would  exterminate  all  the  inhabitants  of  every  town  in  Italy ! 
What  execrations  against  Florence,  Pistoia,  Siena,  Pisa,  Genoa  ! 
What  hatred  against  the  whole  human  race  !  What  exultation 
and  merriment  at  eternal  and  immitigable  sufferings  !  Seeing 
this,  I  cannot  but  consider  the  "  Inferno  "  as  the  most  immoral 
and  impious  book  that  ever  was  written.  Yet,  hopeless  that 
our  country  shall  ever  see  again  such  poetry,  and  certain  that 
without  it  our  future  poets  would  be  more  feebly  urged  forward 
to  excellence,  I  would  have  dissuaded  Dante  from  cancelling 
it,  if  this  had  been  his  intention.  Much  however  as  I  admire 


1 8  THE    PENTAMERON. 

his  vigor  and  severity  of  style  in  the  description  of  Ugolino,  I 
acknowledge  with  you  that  I  do  not  discover  so  much  imagina- 
tion, so  much  creative  power,  as  in  the  Francesca.  I  find  in- 
deed a  minute  detail  of  probable  events ;  but  this  is  not  all  I 
want  in  a  poet,  —  it  is  not  even  all  I  want  most  in  a  scene  of 
horror.  Tribunals  of  justice,  dens  of  murderers,  wards  of  hos- 
pitals, schools  of  anatomy,  will  afford  us  nearly  the  same  sen- 
sations if  we  hear  them  from  an  accurate  observer,  a  clear 
reporter,  a  skilful  surgeon,  or  an  attentive  nurse.  There  is 
nothing  of  sublimity  in  the  horrific  of  Dante,  which  there  al- 
ways is  in  yEschylus  and  Homer.  If  you,  Giovanni,  had 
described  so  nakedly  the  reception  of  Guiscardo's  heart  by 
Gismonda,  or  Lorenzo's  head  by  Lisabetta,  we  could  hardly 
have  endured  it. 

Boccaccio.  Prythee,  dear  Francesco,  do  not  place  me  over 
Dante ;  I  stagger  at  the  idea  of  approaching  him. 

Petrarca.  Never  think  I  am  placing  you  blindly  or  indis- 
criminately. I  have  faults  to  find  with  you,  and  even  here. 
Lisabetta  should  by  no  means  have  been  represented  cutting 
off  the  head  of  her  lover,  "  as  well  as  she  could""  with  a  clasp- 
knife.  This  is  shocking  and  improbable.  She  might  have 
found  it  already  cut  off  by  her  brothers,  in  order  to  bury  the 
corpse  more  commodiously  and  expeditiously.  Nor  indeed  is 
it  likely  that  she  should  have  intrusted  it  to  her  waiting-maid, 
who  carried  home  in  her  bosom  a  treasure  so  dear  to  her,  and 
found  so  unexpectedly  and  so  lately. 

Boccaccio.  That  is  true  :  I  will  correct  the  oversight.  Why 
do  we  never  hear  of  our  faults  until  everybody  knows  them, 
and  until  they  stand  in  record  against  us? 

Petrarca.  Because  our  ears  are  closed  to  truth  and  friend- 
ship for  some  time  after  the  triumphal  course  of  composition. 
We  are  too  sensitive  for  the  gentlest  touch ;  and  when  we 
really  have  the  most  infirmity,  we  are  angry  to  be  told  that  we 
have  any. 

Boccaccio.  Ah,  Francesco  !  thou  art  poet  from  scalp  to 
heel ;  but  what  other  would  open  his  breast  as  thou  hast  done  ! 
They  show  ostentatiously  far  worse  weaknesses ;  but  the  most 
honest  of  the  tribe  would  forswear  himself  on  this.  Again,  I 
acknowledge  it,  you  have  reason  to  complain  of  Lisabetta  and 
Gismonda. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  1 9 

Petrarca.  They  keep  the  soul  from  sinking  in  such  dread- 
ful circumstances  by  the  buoyancy  of  imagination.  The  sun- 
shine of  poetry  makes  the  color  of  blood  less  horrible,  and 
draws  up  a  shadowy  and  a  softening  haziness  where  the  scene 
would  otherwise  be  too  distinct.  Poems,  like  rivers,  convey 
to  their  destination  what  must  without  their  appliances  be  left 
unhandled  :  these  to  ports  and  arsenals,  this  to  the  human 
heart. 

Boccaccio.  So  it  is ;  and  what  is  terror  in  poetry  is  horror 
in  prose.  We  may  be  brought  too  close  to  an  object  to  leave 
any  room  for  pleasure.  Ugolino  affects  us  like  a  skeleton,  by 
dry  bony  verity. 

Petrarca.  We  cannot  be  too  distinct  in  our  images ;  but 
although  distinctness  on  this  and  most  other  occasions  is  de- 
sirable in  the  imitative  arts,  yet  sometimes  in  painting,  and 
sometimes  in  poetry,  an  object  should  not  be  quite  precise.  In 
your  novel  of  Andrevola  and  Gabriotto,  you  afford  me  an 
illustration. 

"Le  pareva  dal  corpo  di  lui  uscire  una 
cosa  oscura  e  terribile." 

This  is  like  a  dream  :  this  is  a  dream.  Afterward,  you  present 
to  us  such  palpable  forms  and  pleasing  colors  as  may  relieve 
and  soothe  us. 

"  Ed  avendo  molte  rose,  bianche  e  vermi- 
glie,  colte,  perciocche  la  stagione  era." 

Boccaccio.  Surely  you  now  are  mocking  me.  The  roses, 
I  perceive,  would  not  have  been  there  had  it  not  been  the 
season. 

Petrarca.  A  poet  often  does  more  and  better  than  he  is 
aware  at  the  time,  and  seems  at  last  to  know  as  little  about  it 
as  a  silkworm  knows  about  the  fineness  of  her  thread. 

The  uncertain  dream  that  still  hangs  over  us  in  the  novel  is 
intercepted  and  hindered  from  hurting  us  by  the  spell  of  the 
roses,  of  the  white  and  the  red ;  a  word  the  less  would  have 
rendered  it  incomplete.  The  very  warmth  and  geniality  of  the 
season  shed  their  kindly  influence  on  us,  and  we  are  renovated 
and  ourselves  again  by  virtue  of  the  clear  fountain  where  we 
rest.  Nothing  of  this  poetical  providence  comes  to  our  relief 
in  Dante,  though  we  want  it  oftener.  It  would  be  difficult  to 


20  THE    PENTAMERON. 

form  an  idea  of  a  poem,  into  which  so  many  personages  are 
introduced,  containing  so  few  delineations  of  character,  so  few 
touches  that  excite  our  sympathy,  so  few  elementary  signs  for 
our  instruction,  so  few  topics  for  our  delight,  so  few  excursions 
for  our  recreation.  Nevertheless,  his  powers  of  language  are 
prodigious ;  and  in  the  solitary  places  where  he  exerts  his 
force  rightly,  the  stroke  is  irresistible.  But  how  greatly  to  be 
pitied  must  he  be,  who  can  find  nothing  in  paradise  better  than 
sterile  theology  !  and  what  an  object  of  sadness  and  of  conster- 
nation he  who  rises  up  from  hell  like  a  giant  refreshed  ! 

Boccaccio.  Strange  perversion  !  A  pillar  of  smoke  by  day 
and  of  fire  by  night,  —  to  guide  no  one.  Paradise  had  fewer 
wants  for  him  to  satisfy  than  hell  had ;  all  which  he  fed  to  re- 
pletion. But  let  us  rather  look  to  his  poetry  than  his  temper. 

Petrarca.     We  will,  then. 

A  good  poem  is  not  divided  into  little  panes  like  a  cathedral 
window ;  which  little  panes  themselves  are  broken  and  blurred, 
with  a  saint's  coat  on  a  dragon's  tail,  a  doctor's  head  on  the 
bosom  of  a  virgin  martyr,  and  having  about  them  more  lead 
than  glass,  and  more  gloom  than  coloring.  A  good  satire  or 
good  comedy,  if  it  does  not  always  smile,  rarely  and  briefly 
intermits  it,  and  never  rages.  A  good  epic  shows  us  more  and 
more  distinctly,  at  every  book  of  it  we  open,  the  feature  and 
properties  of  heroic  character,  and  terminates  with  accom- 
plishing some  momentous  action.  A  good  tragedy  shows  us 
that  greater  men  than  ourselves  have  suffered  more  severely 
and  more  unjustly ;  that  the  highest  human  power  hath  sud- 
denly fallen  helpless  and  extinct ;  or,  what  is  better  to  con- 
template and  usefuller  to  know,  that  uncontrolled  by  law, 
unaccompanied  by  virtue,  unfollowed  by  contentment,  its  pos- 
session is  undesirable  and  unsafe.  Sometimes  we  go  away  in 
triumph  with  Affliction  proved  and  purified,  and  leave  her 
under  the  smiles  of  heaven.  In  all  these  consummations  the 
object  is  excellent ;  and  here  is  the  highest  point  to  which 
poetry  can  attain.  Tragedy  has  no  by-paths,  no  resting-places ; 
there  is  everywhere  action  and  passion.  What  do  we  find  of 
this  nature,  or  what  of  the  epic,  in  the  Orpheus  and  Judith, 
the  Charon  and  Can  della  Scala,  the  Sinon  and  Maestro 
Adamo  ? 

Boccaccio.     Personages  strangely  confounded  !    In  this  cate- 


THE    PENTAMERON.  21 

gory  it  required  a  strong  hand  to  make  Pluto  and  Pepe  Satan 
keep  the  peace,  both  having  the  same  pretensions,  and  neither 
the  sweetest  temper. 

Petrarca.  Then  the  description  of  Mahomet  is  indecent 
and  filthy.  Yet  Dante  is  scarcely  more  disgusting  in  this  place, 
than  he  is  insipid  and  spiritless  in  his  allegory  of  the  mar- 
riages between  Saint  Francesco  and  Poverty,  Saint  Dominico 
and  Faith.  I  speak  freely  and  plainly  to  you,  Giovanni,  and 
the  rather,  as  you  have  informed  me  that  I  have  been  thought 
invidious  to  the  reputation  of  our  great  poet,  —  for  such  he  is 
transcendently,  in  the  midst  of  his  imperfections.  Such  like- 
wise were  Ennius  and  Lucilius  in  the  same  period  of  Roman 
literature.  They  were  equalled,  and  perhaps  excelled  :  will 
Dante  ever  be,  in  his  native  tongue  ?  The  past  generations  of 
his  countrymen,  the  glories  of  old  Rome,  fade  before  him  the 
instant  he  springs  upward ;  but  they  impart  a  more  constant 
and  a  more  genial  delight. 

Boccaccio.  They  have  less  hair-cloth  about  them,  and  smell 
less  cloisterly ;  yet  they  are  only  choristers. 

The  generous  man,  such  as  you,  praises  and  censures  with 
equal  freedom,  not  with  equal  pleasure  :  the  freedom  and  the 
pleasure  of  the  ungenerous  are  both  contracted,  and  lie  only 
on  the  left  hand. 

Petrarca.  When  we  point  out  to  our  friends  an  object  in 
the  country,  do  we  wish  to  diminish  it?  Do  we  wish  to  show 
it  overcast?  Why  then  should  we  in  those  nobler  works  of 
creation,  God's  only  representatives,  who  have  cleared  our  in- 
tellectual sight  for  us,  and  have  displayed  before  us  things 
more  magnificent  than  Nature  would  without  them  have 
revealed  ? 

We  poets  are  heated  by  proximity.  Those  who  are  gone, 
warm  us  by  the  breath  they  leave  behind  them  in  their  course, 
and  only  warm  us :  those  who  are  standing  near,  and  just  be- 
fore, fever  us.  Solitude  has  kept  me  uninfected,  —  unless  you 
may  hint  perhaps  that  pride  was  my  preservative  against  the 
malignity  of  a  worse  disease. 

Boccaccio.  It  might  well  be,  though  it  were  not ;  you  hav- 
ing been  crowned  in  the  capital  of  the  Christian  world. 

Petrarca.  That  indeed  would  have  been  something,  if  I 
had  been  crowned  for  my  Christianity,  of  which  I  suspect  there 


22  THE    PENTAMERON. 

are  better  judges  in  Rome  than  there  are  of  poetry.  I  would 
rather  be  preferred  to  my  rivals  by  the  two  best  critics  of  the  age 
than  by  all  the  others,  who  if  they  think  differently  from  the 
two  wisest  in  these  matters  must  necessarily  think  wrong. 

Boccaccio.  You  know  that  not  only  the  first  two,  but  many 
more,  prefer  you ;  and  that  neither  they,  nor  any  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  your  character,  can  believe  that  your  strictures 
on  Dante  are  invidious  or  uncandid. 

Petrarca.  I  am  borne  toward  him  by  many  strong  impulses. 
Our  families  were  banished  by  the  same  faction  :  he  himself 
and  my  father  left  Florence  on  the  same  day,  and  both  left  it 
forever.  This  recollection  would  rather  make  me  cling  to 
him  than  cast  him  down.  Ill  fortune  has  many  and  tenacious 
ties  :  good  fortune  has  few  and  fragile  ones.  I  saw  our  illus- 
trious fellow-citizen  once  only,  and  when  I  was  a  child.  Even 
the  sight  of  such  a  poet,  in  early  days,  is  dear  to  him  who 
aspires  to  become  one,  and  the  memory  is  always  in  his  favor. 
The  worst  I  can  recollect  to  have  said  against  his  poem  to 
others  is,  that  the  architectural  fabric  of  the  "  Inferno  "  is  unin- 
telligible without  a  long  study,  and  only  to  be  understood  after 
distracting  our  attention  from  its  inhabitants.  Its  locality  and 
dimensions  are  at  last  uninteresting,  and  would  better  have 
been  left  in  their  obscurity.  The  zealots  of  Dante  compare  it, 
for  invention,  with  the  infernal  regions  of  Homer  and  Virgil. 
I  am  ignorant  how  much  the  Grecian  poet  invented,  how  much 
existed  in  the  religion,  how  much  in  the  songs  and  traditions 
of  the  people.  But  surely  our  Alighieri  has  taken  the  same 
idea,  and  even  made  his  descent  in  the  same  part  of  Italy,  as 
^Eneas  had  done  before.  In  the  Odyssea  the  mind  is  perpet- 
ually relieved  by  variety  of  scene  and  character.  There  are 
vices  enough  in  it,  but  rising  from  lofty  or  from  powerful  pas- 
sions, and  under  the  veil  of  mystery  and  poetry :  there  are 
virtues  too  enough,  and  human  and  definite  and  practicable. 
We  have  man,  although  a  shade,  in  his  own  features,  in  his 
own  dimensions :  he  appears  before  us  neither  cramped  by 
systems  nor  jaundiced  by  schools, —  no  savage,  no  cit,  no  canni- 
bal, no  doctor.  Vigorous  and  elastic,  he  is  such  as  poetry  saw 
him  first ;  he  is  such  as  poetry  would  ever  see  him.  In  Dante, 
the  greater  part  of  those  who  are  not  degraded,  are  debilitated 
and  distorted.  No  heart  swells  here,  either  for  overpowered 


THE    PENTAMERON.  23 

valor  or  for  unrequited  love.  In  the  shades  alone,  but  in  the 
shades  of  Homer,  does  Ajax  rise  to  his  full  loftiness ;  in  the 
shades  alone,  but  in  the  shades  of  Virgil,  is  Dido  the  arbitress 
of  our  tears. 

Boccaccio.  I  must  confess  there  are  nowhere  two  whole 
cantos  in  Dante  which  will  bear  a  sustained  and  close  com- 
parison with  the  very  worst  book  of  the  Odyssea  or  the 
yEneid ;  that  there  is  nothing  of  the  same  continued  and  un- 
abated excellence  as  Ovid's  in  the  contention  for  the  armor  of 
Achilles, —  the  most  heroic  of  heroic  poetry,  and  only  censur- 
able, if  censurable  at  all,  because  the  eloquence  of  the  braver 
man  is  more  animated  and  more  persuasive  than  his  successful 
rival's.  I  do  not  think  Ovid  the  best  poet  that  ever  lived,  but 
I  think  he  wrote  the  most  of  good  poetry,  and,  in  proportion 
to  its  quantity,  the  least  of  bad  or  indifferent.  The  "  Inferno," 
the  "  Purgatorio,"  the  "  Paradise  "  are  pictures  from  the  walls  of 
our  churches  and  chapels  and  monasteries,  some  painted  by 
Giotto  and  Cimabue,  some  earlier.  In  several  of  these  we  detect 
not  only  the  cruelty,  but  likewise  the  satire  and  indecency  of 
Dante.  Sometimes  there  is  also  his  vigor  and  simplicity,  but 
oftener  his  harshness  and  meagreness  and  disproportion.  I  am 
afraid  the  good  Alighieri,  like  his  friends  the  painters,  was  in- 
clined to  think  the  angels  were  created  only  to  flagellate  and 
burn  us,  and  paradise  only  for  us  to  be  driven  out  of  it.  And 
in  truth,  as  we  have  seen  it  exhibited,  there  is  but  little  hard- 
ship in  the  case. 

The  opening  of  the  third  canto  of  the  "  Inferno  "  has  always 
been  much  admired.  There  is  indeed  a  great  solemnity  in 
the  words  of  the  inscription  on  the  portal  of  hell ;  nevertheless, 
I  do  not  see  the  necessity  for  three  verses  out  of  six.  After 

"  Per  me  si  va  nell'  eterno  dolore," 
it  surely  is  superfluous  to  subjoin 

"  Per  me  si  va  fra  la  perduta  gente ;  " 

for,  besides  the  "  perduta  gente,"  who  else  can  suffer  the  eternal 
woe  ?  And  when  the  portal  has  told  us  that  "  Justice  moved 
the  high  Maker  to  make  it,"  surely  it  might  have  omitted  the 
notification  that  his  "  divine  power  "  did  it, — 

"  Fecemi  la  divina  potestate." 


24  THE    PENTAMERON. 

The  next  piece  of  information  I  wish  had  been  conveyed  even 
in  darker  characters,  so  that  they  never  could  have  been 
deciphered.  The  following  line  is, 

"La  somma  Sapienza  e  '1  primo  Amore." 

If  God's  first  love  was  hell-making,  we  might  almost  wish  his 
affections  were  as  mutable  as  ours  are,  —  that  is,  if  holy  church 
would  countenance  us  therein. 

Petrarca.  Systems  of  poetry,  of  philosophy,  of  government 
form  and  model  us  to  their  own  proportions.  As  our  sys- 
tems want  the  grandeur,  the  light,  and  the  symmetry  of  the 
ancient,  we  cannot  hope  for  poets,  philosophers,  or  statesmen 
of  equal  dignity.  Very  justly  do  you  remark  that  our  churches 
and  chapels  and  monasteries,  and  even  our  shrines  and  taber- 
nacles on  the  road-side,  contain  in  painting  the  same  punish- 
ments as  Alighieri  hath  registered  in  his  poem,  —  and  several 
of  these  were  painted  before  his  birth.  Nor  surely  can  you 
have  forgotten  that  his  master,  Brunette  Latini,  composed  one 
on  the  same  plan. 

The  Virtues  and  Vices,  and  persons  under  their  influence, 
appear  to  him  likewise  in  a  wood,  wherein  he,  like  Dante,  is 
bewildered.  Old  walls  are  the  tablets  both  copy  :  the  arrange- 
ment is  the  devise  of  Brunetto.  Our  religion  is  too  simple  in 
its  verities  and  too  penurious  in  its  decorations,  for  poetry  of 
high  value.  We  cannot  hope  or  desire  that  a  pious  Italian 
will  ever  have  the  audacity  to  restore  to  Satan  a  portion  of  his 
majesty,  or  to  remind  the  faithful  that  he  is  a  fallen  angel. 

Boccaccio.  No,  no,  Francesco  ;  let  us  keep  as  much  of  him 
down  as  we  can,  and  as  long. 

Petrarca.  It  might  not  be  amiss  to  remember  that  even 
human  power  is  complacent  in  security,  and  that  Omnipotence 
is  ever  omnipotent,  without  threats  and  fulminations. 

Boccaccio.  These,  however,  are  the  main  springs  of  sacred 
poetry,  of  which  I  think  we  already  have  enough. 

Petrarca.     But  good  enough? 

Boccaccio.  Even  much  better  would  produce  less  effect 
than  that  which  has  occupied  our  ears  from  childhood,  and 
comes  sounding  and  swelling  with  a  mysterious  voice  from  the 
deep  and  dark  recesses  of  antiquity. 

Petrarca.     I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not  revert  at 


THE    PENTAMERON.  25 

times  to  the  first  intentions  of  poetry.     Hymns  to  the  Creator 
were  its  earliest  efforts. 

Boccaccio.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  unless  He  himself 
was  graciously  pleased  to  inspire  the  singer,  —  of  which  we  have 
received  no  account.  I  rather  think  it  originated  in  pleasura- 
ble song,  perhaps  of  drunkenness,  and  resembled  the  dithy- 
rambic.  Strong  excitement  alone  could  force  and  hurry  men 
among  words  displaced  and  exaggerated  ideas. 

Believing  that  man  fell,  first  into  disobedience,  next  mto 
ferocity  and  fratricide,  we  may  reasonably  believe  that  war- 
songs  were  among  the  earliest  of  his  intellectual  exertions. 
When  he  rested  from  battle  he  had  leisure  to  think  of  love ; 
and  the  skies  and  the  fountains  and  the  flowers  reminded  him 
of  her,  the  coy  and  beautiful,  who  fled  to  a  mother  from  the 
ardor  of  his  pursuit.  In  after  years  he  lost  a  son,  his  com- 
panion in  the  croft  and  in  the  forest :  images  too  grew  up 
there,  and  rested  on  the  grave.  A  daughter  who  had  won- 
dered at  his  strength  and  wisdom,  looked  to  him  in  vain  for 
succor  at  the  approach  of  death.  Inarticulate  grief  gave  way 
to  passionate  and  wailing  words,  and  Elegy  was  awakened. 
We  have  tears  in  this  world  before  we  have  smiles,  Francesco ; 
we  have  struggles  before  we  have  composure ;  we  have  strife 
and  complaints  before  we  have  submission  and  gratitude.  I  / 
am  suspicious  that  if  we  could  collect  the  "  winged  words"  of/ 
the  earliest  hymns,  we  should  find  that  they  called  upon  the 
Deity  for  vengeance.  Priests  and  rulers  were  far  from  insen- 
sible to  private  wrongs.  Chryses  in  the  Iliad  is  willing  that  his 
king  and  country  should  be  enslaved,  so  that  his  daughter  be 
sent  back  to  him.  David  in  the  Psalms  is  no  unimportunate 
or  lukewarm  applicant  for  the  discomfiture  and  extermination 
of  his  adversaries,  and  among  the  visions  of  felicity  none 
brighter  is  promised  a  fortunate  warrior  than  to  dash  the  in- 
fants of  his  enemy  against  the  stones.  The  Holy  Scriptures 
teach  us  that  the  human  race  was  created  on  the  banks  of  the 
Euphrates,  and  where  the  river  hath  several  branches.  Here 
the  climate  is  extremely  hot ;  and  men,  like  birds,  in  hot  cli- 
mates never  sing  well.  I  doubt  whether  there  was  ever  a  good 
poet  in  the  whole  city  and  whole  plain  of  Babylon.  Egypt 
had  none  but  such  as  she  imported.  Mountainous  countries 
bear  them  as  they  bear  the  more  fragrant  plants  and  savory 


26  THE    PENTAMERON. 

game.  Judaea  had  hers  ;  Attica  reared  them  among  her  thyme 
and  hives ;  and  Tuscany  may  lift  her  laurels  not  a  span  below. 
Never  have  the  accents  of  poetry  been  heard  on  the  fertile 
banks  of  the  Vistula ;  and  Ovid  taught  the  borderers  of  the 
Danube  an  indigenous 1  song  in  vain. 

Petrarca.  Orpheus,  we  hear,  sang  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hebrus. 

Boccaccio.  The  banks  of  the  Hebrus  may  be  level  or 
rocky  for  what  I  know  about  them  ;  but  the  river  is  represented 
by  the  poets  as  rapid  and  abounding  in  whirlpools,  —  hence,  I 
presume,  it  runs  among  rocks  and  inequalities.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  do  you  imagine  that  Thrace  in  those  early  days  produced 
a  philosophical  poet? 

Petrarca.     We  have  the  authority  of  history  for  it. 

Boccaccio.  Bad  authority  too,  unless  we  sift  and  cross-ex- 
amine it.  Undoubtedly  there  were  narrow  paths  of  commerce 
in  very  ancient  times  from  the  Euxine  to  the  Caspian,  and 
from  the  Caspian  to  the  kingdoms  of  the  remoter  East.  Mer- 
chants in  those  days  were  not  only  the  most  adventurous,  but 
the  most  intelligent  men  :  and  there  were  ardent  minds,  unin- 
fluenced by  a  spirit  of  lucre,  which  were  impelled  by  the 
ardor  of  imagination  into  untravelled  regions.  Scythia  was 
a  land  of  fable,  not  only  to  the  Greeks,  but  equally  to  the 
Romans.  Thrace  was  a  land  of  fable,  we  may  well  believe, 
to  the  nearest  towns  of  northern  India.  I  imagine  that 
Orpheus,  whoever  he  was,  brought  his  knowledge  from  that 
quarter.  We  are  too  apt  to  fancy  that  Greece  owed  every- 
thing to  the  Phoenicians  and  Egyptians.  The  elasticity  of  her 
mind  threw  off,  or  the  warmth  of  her  imagination  transmuted, 
the  greater  part  of  her  earlier  acquisitions.  She  was  indebted 
to  Phoenicia  for  nothing  but  her  alphabet ;  and  even  these 
signs  she  modified,  and  endowed  them  with  a  portion  of  her 
flexibility  and  grace. 

Petrarca.  There  are  those  who  tell  us  that  Homer  lived 
before  the  age  of  letters  in  Greece. 

Boccaccio.  I  wish  they  knew  the  use  of  them  as  well  as  he 
did.  Will  they  not  also  tell  us  that  the  commerce  of  the  two 
nations  was  carried  on  without  the  numerals  (and  such  were 

1  '  Aptaque  sunt  nostris  barbara  verba  modis.' 
What  are  all  the  other  losses  of  literature  in  comparison  with  this  ? 


THE    PENTAMERON.  2/ 

letters)  by  which  traders  cast  up  accounts  ?  The  Phoenicians 
traded  largely  with  every  coast  of  the  y£gean  Sea,  and  among 
their  earliest  correspondents  were  the  inhabitants  of  the  Greek 
maritime  cities,  insular  and  continental.  Is  it  credible  that 
Cyprus,  that  Crete,  that  Attica,  should  be  ignorant  of  the  most 
obvious  means  by  which  commerce  was  maintained ;  or  that 
such  means  should  be  restricted  to  commerce  among  a  people 
so  peculiarly  fitted  for  social  intercourse,  so  inquisitive,  so 
imaginative,  as  the  Greeks? 

Petrarca.     Certainly  it  is  not. 

Boccaccio.  The  Greeks  were  the  most  creative,  the  Romans 
the  least  creative,  of  mankind.  No  Roman  ever  invented  any- 
thing. Whence  then  are  derived  the  only  two  works  of  im- 
agination we  find  among  them, —  the  story  of  the  "  Ephesian  l 
Matron,"  and  the  story  of  "Psyche"?  Doubtless  from  some 
country  farther  eastward  than  Phoenicia  and  Egypt.  The  authors 
in  which  we  find  these  insertions  are  of  little  intrinsic  worth. 

When  the  Thracians  became  better  known  to  the  Greeks 
they  turned  their  backs  upon  them  as  worn-out  wonders,  and 
looked  toward  the  inexhaustible  Hyperboreans.  Among  these 
too  were  wisdom  and  the  arts,  and  mounted  instruments 
through  which  a  greater  magnitude  was  given  to  the  stars. 

Petrarca.  I  will  remain  no  longer  with  you  among  the 
Thracians  or  the  Hyperboreans.  But  in  regard  to  low  and 
level  countries,  as  unproductive  of  poetry,  I  entreat  you  not  to 
be  too  fanciful  nor  too  exclusive.  Virgil  was  born  on  the 
Mincio,  and  has  rendered  the  city  of  his  birth  too  celebrated 
to  be  mistaken. 

Boccaccio.  He  was  born  in  the  territory  of  Mantua,  not  in 
the  city.  He  sang  his  first  child's  song  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
Apennines ;  his  first  man's,  under  the  shadow  of  Vesuvius. 

I  would  not  assert  that  a  great  poet  must  necessarily  be  born 
on  a  high  mountain, —  no,  indeed,  no  such  absurdity ;  but  where 
the  climate  is  hot,  the  plains  have  never  shown  themselves 
friendly  to  the  imaginative  faculties.  We  surely  have  more 
buoyant  spirits  on  the  mountain  than  below ;  but  it  is  not 

1  One  similar,  and  better  conceived,  is  given  by  Du  Halde  from  the 
Chinese.  If  the  fiction  of  Psyche  had  reached  Greece  so  early  as  the 
time  of  Plato,  it  would  have  caught  his  attention,  and  he  would  have 
delivered  it  down  to  us,  however  altered. 


28  THE    PENTAMERON. 

requisite  for  this  effect  that  our  cradles  should  have  been 
placed  on  it. 

Petrarca.     What  will  you  say  about  Pindar? 

Boccaccio.  I  think  it  more  probable  that  he  was  reared  in 
the  vicinity  of  Thebes  than  within  the  walls.  For  Bceotia,  like 
our  Tuscany,  has  one  large  plain,  but  has  also  many  eminences, 
and  is  bounded  on  two  sides  by  hills. 

Look  at  the  vale  of  Capua  !  Scarcely  so  much  as  a  sonnet 
was  ever  heard  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other ;  perhaps  the 
most  spirited  thing  was  some  Carthaginian  glee,  from  a  soldier 
in  the  camp  of  Hannibal.  Nature  seems  to  contain  in  her 
breast  the  same  milk  for  all,  but  feeding  one  for  one  aptitude, 
another  for  another ;  and  as  if  she  would  teach  him  a  lesson 
as  soon  as  he  could  look  about  him,  she  has  placed  the  poet 
where  the  air  is  unladen  with  the  exhalations  of  luxuriance. 

Petrarca.  In  my  delight  to  listen  to  you  after  so  long  an 
absence,  I  have  been  too  unwary ;  and  you  have  been  speak- 
ing too  much  for  one  infirm.  Greatly  am  I  to  blame,  not  to 
have  moderated  my  pleasure  and  your  vivacity.  You  must 
rest  now :  to-morrow  we  will  renew  our  conversation. 

Boccaccio.  God  bless  thee,  Francesco  !  I  shall  be  talking 
with  thee  all  night  in  my  slumbers.  Never  have  I  seen  thee 
with  such  pleasure  as  to-day,  excepting  when  I  was  deemed 
worthy  by  our  fellow-citizens  of  bearing  to  thee,  and  of  placing 
within  this  dear  hand  of  thine,  the  sentence  of  recall  from  ban- 
ishment, and  when  my  tears  streamed  over  the  ordinance  as  I 
read  it,  whereby  thy  paternal  lands  were  redeemed  from  the 
public  treasury. 

Again,  God  bless  thee  !  Those  tears  were  not  quite  ex- 
hausted :  take  the  last  of  them. 


SECOND   DAY'S   INTERVIEW. 

Petrarca.     How  have  you  slept,  Giovanni  ? 

Boccaccio.  Pleasantly,  soundly,  and  quite  long  enough. 
You  too,  methinks,  have  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  riding ;  for 
you  either  slept  well  or  began  late.  Do  you  rise  in  general 
three  hours  after  the  sun? 


THE    PENTAMERON.  2Q 

Petrarca.     No,  indeed. 

Boccaccio.  As  for  me,  since  you  would  not  indulge  me 
with  your  company  an  hour  ago,  I  could  do  nothing  more  de- 
lightful than  to  look  over  some  of  your  old  letters. 

Petrarca.  Ours  are  commemorative  of  no  reproaches,  and 
laden  with  no  regrets.  Far  from  us 

"  With  drooping  wing  the  spell-bound  spirit  moves 
O'er  flickering  friendships  and  extinguished  loves." 

Boccaccio.  Ay,  but  as  I  want  no  record  of  your  kindness 
now  you  are  with  me,  I  have  been  looking  over  those  to  other 
persons  on  past  occasions.  In  the  Latin  one  to  the  tribune, 
whom  the  people  at  Rome  usually  call  Rienzi,  I  find  you 
address  him  by  the  denomination  of  Nicolaus  Laurentii.  Is 
this  the  right  one  ? 

Petrarca.  As  we  Florentines  are  fond  of  omitting  the  first 
syllable  in  proper  names, —  calling  Luigi  Gigi,  Giovanni  Nanni, 
Francesco  Cecco, —  in  like  manner  at  Rome  they  say  Renzi  for 
Lorenzi,  and  by  another  corruption  it  has  been  pronounced  and 
written  Rienzi.  Believe  me,  I  should  never  have  ventured  to 
address  the  personage  who  held  and  supported  the  highest  dig- 
nity on  earth  until  I  had  ascertained  his  appellation  ;  for  nobody 
ever  quite  forgave,  unless  in  the  low  and  ignorant,  a  wrong  pro- 
nunciation of  his  name, — the  humblest  being  of  opinion  that  they 
have  one  of  their  own,  and  one  both  worth  having  and  worth 
knowing.  Even  dogs,  they  observe,  are  not  miscalled.  It 
would  have  been  as  Latin  in  sound,  if  not  in  structure,  to  write 
Rientius  as  Laurentius  ;  but  it  would  certainly  have  been  offen- 
sive to  a  dignitary  of  his  station,  as  being  founded  on  a  sportive 
and  somewhat  childish  familiarity. 

Boccaccio.  Ah,  Francesco  !  we  were  a  good  deal  younger  in 
those  days ;  and  hopes  sprang  up  before  us  like  mushrooms : 
the  sun  produced  them,  the  shade  produced  them,  every  hill, 
every  valley,  every  busy  and  every  idle  hour.  • 

Petrarca.  The  season  of  hope  precedes  but  little  the  season 
of  disappointment.  Where  the  ground  is  unprepared,  what 
harvest  can  be  expected  ?  Men  bear  wrongs  more  easily  than 
irritations  ;  and  the  Romans,  who  had  sunk  under  worse  degra- 
dation than  any  other  people  on  record,  rose  up  against  the 
deliverer  who  ceased  to  consult  their  ignorance.  I  speak 


30  THE    PENTAMERON. 

advisedly  and  without  rhetoric  on  the  foul  depths  of  their  de- 
basement. The  Jews,  led  captive  into  Egypt  and  into  Babylon, 
were  left  as  little  corrupted  as  they  were  found ;  and  perhaps 
some  of  their  vices  were  corrected  by  the  labors  that  were 
imposed  on  them.  But  the  subjugation  of  the  Romans  was 
effected  by  the  depravation  of  their  morals,  which  the  priest- 
hood took  away,  giving  them  ceremonies  and  promises  instead. 
God  had  indulged  them  in  the  exercise  of  power;  first  the 
kings  abused  it,  then  the  consuls,  then  the  tribunes.  One  only 
magistrate  was  remaining  who  never  had  violated  it,  further 
than  in  petty  frauds  and  fallacies  suited  to  the  occasion,  not 
having  at  present  more  within  his  reach.  It  was  now  his  turn 
to  exercise  his  functions,  and  no  less  grievously  and  despotically 
than  the  preceding  had  done.  For  this  purpose  the  Pontifex 
Maximus  needed  some  slight  alterations  in  th'e  popular  belief, 
and  he  collected  them  from  that  Pantheon  which  Roman 
policy  had  enlarged  at  every  conquest.  The  priests  of  Isis  had 
acquired  the  highest  influence  in  the  city :  those  of  Jupiter 
were  jealous  that  foreign  gods  should  become  more  than  sup- 
plementary and  subordinate ;  but  as  the  women  in  general 
leaned  toward  Isis,  it  was  in  vain  to  contest  the  point,  and 
prudent  to  adopt  a  little  at  a  time  from  the  discipline  of  the 
shaven  brotherhood.  The  names  and  titles  of  the  ancient 
gods  had  received  many  additions,  and  they  were  often 
asked  which  they  liked  best.  Different  ones  were  now  given 
them ;  and  gradually,  here  and  there,  the  older  dropped  into 
desuetude.  Then  arose  the  star  in  the  east;  and  all  was 
manifested. 

Boccaccio.  Ay,  ay  !  but  the  second  company  of  shepherds 
sang  to  a  different  tune  from  the  first,  and  put  them  out. 
Trumpeters  ran  in  among  them,  horses  neighed,  tents  waved 
their  pennons,  and  commanders  of  armies  sought  to  raise 
themselves  to  supreme  authority,  some  by  leading  the  faction 
of  the  ancient  faith,  and  some  by  supporting  the  recenter.  At 
last  the  priesthood  succeeded  to  the  power  of  the  praetorian 
guard,  and  elected,  or  procured  the  election  of,  an  emperor. 
Every  man  who  loved  peace  and  quiet  took  refuge  in  a  sanct- 
uary, now  so  efficient  to  protect  him ;  and  nearly  all  who  had 
attained  a  preponderance  in  wisdom  and  erudition,  brought 
them  to  bear  against  the  worn-out  and  tottering  institutions, 


THE    PENTAMEKON.  31 

and  finally  to  raise  up  the  coping-stone  of  an  edifice  which 
overtopped  them  all. 

Petrarca.  At  present  we  fly  to  princes  as  we  fly  to  caves 
and  arches,  and  other  things  of  the  mere  earth,  for  shelter  and 
protection. 

Boccaccio.  And  when  they  afford  it  at  all  they  afford  it  with 
as  little  care  and  knowledge.  Like  Egyptian  embalmers,  they 
cast  aside  the  brains  as  useless  or  worse,  but  carefully  swathe 
up  all  that  is  viler  and  heavier,  and  place  it  in  their  painted 
catacombs. 

Petrarca.  What  Dante  saw  in  his  day  we  see  in  ours.  The 
danger  is,  lest  first  the  wiser,  and  soon  afterward  the  unwiser, 
in  abhorrence  at  the  presumption  and  iniquity  of  the  priest- 
hood, should  abandon  religion  altogether,  when  it  is  forbidden 
to  approach  her  without  such  company. 

Boccaccio.  Philosophy  is  but  the  calyx  of  that  plant  of  para- 
dise, religion.  Detach  it,  and  it  dies  away ;  meanwhile  the 
plant  itself,  supported  by  its  proper  nutriment,  retains  its  vigor. 

Petrarca.  The  good  citizen  and  the  calm  reasoner  come 
at  once  to  the  same  conclusion,  —  that  philosophy  can  never 
hold  many  men  together ;  that  religion  can,  —  and  those  who 
without  it  would  not  let  philosophy,  nor  law,  nor  humanity 
exist.  Therefore  it  is  our  duty  and  interest  to  remove  all 
obstruction  from  it ;  to  give  it  air,  light,  space,  and  freedom,  — 
carrying  in  our  hands  a  scourge  for  fallacy,  a  chain  for  cruelty, 
and  an  irrevocable  ostracism  for  riches  that  riot  in  the  house 
of  God. 

Boccaccio.     Moderate  wealth  is  quite  enough  to  teach  with. 

Petrarca.  The  luxury  and  rapacity  of  the  Church,  together 
with  the  insolence  of  the  barons,  excited  that  discontent  which 
emboldened  Nicolo  di  Rienzi  to  assume  the  station  of  tribune. 
Singular  was  the  prudence,  and  opportune  the  boldness,  he 
manifested  at  first.  His  modest)',  his  piety,  his  calm  severity, 
his  unbiassed  justice,  won  to  him  the  affections  of  every  good 
citizen,  and  struck  horror  into  the  fastnesses  of  every  castel- 
lated felon.  He  might  by  degrees  have  restored  the  republic 
of  Rome  had  he  preserved  his  moderation ;  he  might  have  be- 
come the  master  of  Italy  had  he  continued  the  master  of  him- 
self ;  but  he  allowed  the  weakest  of  the  passions  to  run  away  with 
him.  He  fancied  he  could  not  inebriate  himself  soon  enough 


32  THE    PENTAMERON. 

with  the  intemperance  of  power.  He  called  for  seven  crowns, 
and  placed  them  successively  on  his  head;  he  cited  Lewis 
of  Bavaria  and  Charles  of  Bohemia  to  appear  and  plead  their 
causes  before  him ;  and  lastly,  not  content  with  exasperating 
and  concentrating  the  hostility  of  barbarians,  he  set  at  defiance 
the  best  and  highest  feelings  of  his  more  instructed  country- 
men, and  displayed  his  mockery  of  religion  and  decency  by 
bathing  in  the  porphyry  font  of  the  Lateran.  How  my  soul 
grieved  for  his  defection  !  How  bitterly  burst  forth  my  com- 
plaints, when  he  ordered  the  imprisonment  of  Stefano  Colonna 
in  his  ninetieth  year  !  For  these  atrocities  you  know  with  what 
reproaches  I  assailed  him,  traitor  as  he  was  to  the  noblest  cause 
that  ever  strung  the  energies  of  mankind.  For  this  cause, 
under  his  auspices,  I  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  favor  and  pro- 
tection from  the  pontiff;  I  had  cast  into  peril,  almost  into  per- 
dition, the  friendship,  familiarity,  and  love  of  the  Colonnas. 
Even  you,  Giovanni,  thought  me  more  rash  than  you  would 
say  you  thought  me,  and  wondered  at  seeing  me  whirled  along 
with  the  tempestuous  triumphs  that  seemed  mounting  toward 
the  Capitol.  It  is  only  in  politics  that  an  actor  appears  greater 
by  the  magnitude  of  the  theatre ;  and  we  readily  and  enthu- 
siastically give  way  to  the  deception.  Indeed,  whenever  a 
man  capable  of  performing  great  and  glorious  actions  is  emerg- 
ing from  obscurity,  it  is  our  duty  to  remove,  if  we  can,  all 
obstruction  from  before  him ;  to  increase  his  scope  and  his 
powers,  to  extol  and  amplify  his  virtues.  This  is  always 
requisite,  and  often  insufficient  to  counteract  the  workings  of 
malignity  round  about  him.  But  finding  him  afterward  false 
and  cruel,  and  instead  of  devoting  himself  to  the  common- 
wealth, exhausting  it  by  his  violence  and  sacrificing  it  to  his 
vanity,  then  it  behooves  us  to  stamp  the  foot,  and  to  call  in  the 
people  to  cast  down  the  idol.  For  nothing  is  so  immoral  or 
pernicious  as  to  keep  up  the  illusion  of  greatness  in  wicked 
men.  Their  crimes,  because  they  have  fallen  into  the  gulf  of 
them,  we  call  misfortunes ;  and  amid  ten  thousand  mourners, 
grieve  only  for  him  who  made  them  so.  Is  this  reason,  is 
this  humanity? 

Boccaccio.     Alas  !  it  is  man. 

Petrarca.     Can  we  wonder,  then,  that  such  wretches  have 
turned  him  to  such  purposes?    The  calmness,  the  sagacity,  the 


THE    PENTAMERON.  33 

sanctitude  of  Rienzi,  in  the  ascent  to  his  elevation,   rendered 
him  only  the  more  detestable  for  his  abuse  of  power. 

Boccaccio.     Surely,  the  man  grew  mad. 

Petrarca.  Men  often  give  the  hand  to  the  madness  that 
seizes  them.  He  yielded  to  pride  and  luxury ;  behind  them 
came  jealousy  and  distrust :  fear  followed  these,  and  cruelty 
followed  fear.  Then  the  intellects  sought  the  subterfuge  that 
bewildered  them ;  and  an  ignoble  flight  was  precluded  by  an 
ignominious  death. 

Boccaccio.  No  mortal  is  less  to  be  pitied,  or  more  to  be 
detested,  than  he  into  whose  hands  are  thrown  the  fortunes  of 
a  nation,  and  who  squanders  them  away  in  the  idle  gratification 
of  his  pride  and  his  ambition.  Are  not  these  already  gratified 
to  the  full  by  the  confidence  and  deference  of  his  countrymen  ? 
Can  silks  and  the  skins  of  animals,  can  hammered  metals  and 
sparkling  stones,  enhance  the  value  of  legitimate  dominion 
over  the  human  heart?  Can  a  wise  man  be  desirous  of  having 
a  less  wise  successor?  —  and,  of  all  the  world,  would  he  ex- 
hibit this  inferiority  in  a  son  ?  Irrational  as  are  all  who  aim  at 
despotism,  this  is  surely  the  most  irrational  of  their  specu- 
lations. Vulgar  men  are  more  anxious  for  title  and  decoration 
than  for  power ;  and  notice,  in  their  estimate,  is  preferable  to 
regard.  We  ought  as  little  to  mind  the  extinction  of  such  ex- 
istences as  the  dying-down  of  a  favorable  wind  in  the  prose- 
cution of  a  voyage.  They  are  fitter  for  the  calendar  than  for 
history,  and  it  is  well  when  we  find  them  in  last  year's. 

Petrarca.  What  a  year  was  Rienzi's  last  to  me  !  What  an 
extinction  of  all  that  had  not  been  yet  extinguished  !  Vision- 
ary as  was  the  flash  of  his  glory,  there  was  another  more  truly 
so,  which  this,  my  second  great  loss  and  sorrow,  opened  again 
before  me. 

Verona  !  loveliest  of  cities,  but  saddest  to  my  memory  !  while 
the  birds  were  singing  in  thy  cypresses  the  earliest  notes  of 
spring,  the  blithest  of  hope,  the  tenderest  of  desire,  she  my 
own  Laura,  fresh  as  the  dawn  around  her,  stood  before  me. 
It  was  her  transit ;  I  knew  it  ere  she  spake.1 

0  Giovanni !  the  heart  that  has  once  been  bathed  in  love's 
pure  fountain,  retains  the  pulse  of  youth  forever.     Death  can 

1  This  event  is  related  by  Petrarca  as  occurring  on  the  6th  of  April, 
the  day  of  her  decease. 

3 


34  THE    PENTAMERON. 

only  take  away  the  sorrowful  from  our  affections  :  the  flower  ex- 
pands ;  the  colorless  film  that  enveloped  it  falls  off  and  perishes. 

Boccaccio.  We  may  well  believe  it :  and  believing  it,  let  us 
cease  to  be  disquieted  for  their  absence  who  have  but  retired 
into  another  chamber.  We  are  like  those  who  have  overslept 
the  hour :  when  we  rejoin  our  friends,  there  is  only  the  more 
joyance  and  congratulation.  Would  we  break  a  precious  vase, 
because  it  is  as  capable  of  containing  the  bitter  as  the  sweet? 
No :  the  very  things  which  touch  us  the  most  sensibly  are 
those  which  we  should  be  the  most  reluctant  to  forget.  The 
noble  mansion  is  most  distinguished  by  the  beautiful  images 
it  retains  of  beings  passed  away ;  and  so  is  the  noble  mind. 

The  damps  of  autumn  sink  into  the  leaves  and  prepare  them 
for  the  necessity  of  their  fall :  and  thus  insensibly  are  we,  as 
years  close  round  us,  detached  from  our  tenacity  of  life  by  the 
gentle  pressure  of  recorded  sorrows.  When  the  graceful  dance 
and  its  animating  music  are  over,  and  the  clapping  of  hands 
(so  lately  linked)  hath  ceased ;  when  youth  and  comeliness 
and  pleasantry  are  departed, — 

'  Who  would  desire  to  spend  the  following  day 
Among  the  extinguished  lamps,  the  faded  wreaths, 
The  dust  and  desolation  left  behind  ?  " 

But  whether  we  desire  it  or  not,  we  must  submit.  He  who 
hath  appointed  our  days  hath  placed  their  contents  within 
them,  and  our  efforts  can  neither  cast  them  out  nor  change 
their  quality.  In  our  present  mood  we  will  not  dwell  too  long 
on  this  subject,  but  rather  walk  forth  into  the  world,  and  look 
back  again  on  the  bustle  of  life.  Neither  of  us  may  hope  to 
exert  in  future  any  extraordinary  influence  on  the  political 
movements  of  our  country  by  our  presence  or  intervention; 
yet  surely  it  is  something  to  have  set  at  defiance  the  merce- 
naries who  assailed  us,  and  to  have  stood  aloof  from  the  distri- 
bution of  the  public  spoils.  I  have  at  all  times  taken  less 
interest  than  you  have  taken  in  the  affairs  of  Rome ;  for  the 
people  of  that  city  neither  are,  nor  were  of  old,  my  favorites. 
It  appears  to  me  that  there  are  spots  accursed,  spots  doomed 
to  eternal  sterility;  and  Rome  is  one  of -them.  No  gospel  an- 
nounces the  glad  tidings  of  resurrection  to  a  fallen  nation : 
once  down,  and  down  forever.  The  Babylonians,  the  Mace- 
donians, the  Romans,  prove  it.  Babylon  is  a  desert,  Macedon 


THE    PENTAMERON.  35 

a  den  of  thieves,  Rome  (what  is  written  as  an  invitation  on 
the  walls  of  her  streets)  one  vast  immondezzaio,  morally  and 
substantially. 

Petrarca.  The  argument  does  not  hold  good  throughout. 
Persia  was  conquered  :  yet  Persia  long  afterward  sprang  up 
again  with  renovated  strength  and  courage,  and  Sapor  mounted 
his  war-horse  from  the  crouching  neck  of  Valentinian.  In 
nearly  all  the  campaigns  with  the  Romans  she  came  off  victo- 
rious ;  none  of  her  kings  or  generals  was  ever  led  in  triumph 
to  the  Capitol,  but  several  Roman  emperors  lay  prostrate  on 
their  purple  in  the  fields  of  Parthia.  Formidable  at  home, 
victorious  over  friends  and  relatives,  their  legions  had  seized 
and  subdivided  the  arable  plains  of  Campania  and  the  exuber- 
ant pastures  of  the  Po ;  but  the  glebe  that  bordered  the  Araxes 
was  unbroken  by  them.  Persia,  since  those  times,  has  passed 
through  many  vicissitudes  of  defeat  and  victory,  of  obscurity  and 
glory,  and  why  may  not  our  country  ?  Let  us  take  hopes  where 
we  can  find  them,  and  raise  them  where  we  find  none. 

Boccaccio.  In  some  places  we  may ;  in  others,  the  fabric  of 
hopes  is  too  arduous  an  undertaking.  When  I  was  in  Rome, 
nothing  there  reminded  me  of  her  former  state  until  I  saw  a 
goose  in  the  grass  under  the  Capitoline  hill.  This  perhaps 
was  the  only  one  of  her  inhabitants  that  had  not  degenerated. 
Even  the  dogs  looked  sleepy,  mangy,  suspicious,  perfidious, 
and  thievish.  The  goose  meanwhile  was  making  his  choice  of 
herbage  about  triumphal  arches  and  monumental  columns,  and 
picking  up  worms, —  the  surest  descendants,  the  truest  represen- 
tatives, and  enjoying  the  inalienable  succession,  of  the  Caesars. 
This  is  all  that  goose  or  man  can  do  at  Rome.  She,  I  think, 
will  be  the  last  city  to  rise  from  the  dead. 

Petrarca.  There  is  a  trumpet,  and  on  earth,  that  shall 
awaken  even  her. 

Boccaccio.     I  should  like  to  live  and  be  present. 

Pctrarca.  This  cannot  be  expected.  But  you  may  live  many 
years,  and  see  many  things  to  make  you  happy.  For  you  will  not 
close  the  doors  too  early  in  the  evening  of  existence  against  the 
visits  of  renovating  and  cheerful  thoughts,  which  keep  our  lives 
long  up,  and  help  them  to  sink  at  last  without  pain  or  pressure. 

Boccaccio.  Another  year  or  two  perhaps,  with  God's  permis- 
sion. Fra  Biagio  felt  my  pulse  on  Wednesday,  and  cried, — 


36  THE    PENTAMERON. 

"  Courage  !  Ser  Giovanni !  there  is  no  danger  of  paradise  yet  — 
the  Lord  forbid  ! 

"  Faith  !  "  said  I,  "Fra  Biagio,  I  hope  there  is  not.  What 
with  prayers  and  masses,  I  have  planted  a  foot  against  my  old 
homestead,  and  will  tug  hard  to  remain  where  I  am. " 

"A  true  soldier  of  the  faith  !  "  quoth  Fra  Biagio,  and  drank 
a  couple  of  flasks  to  my  health.  Nothing  else,  he  swore  to 
Assunta,  would  have  induced  him  to  venture  beyond  one, —  he 
hating  all  excesses,  they  give  the  adversary  such  advantage 
over  us ;  although  God  is  merciful  and  makes  allowances. 

Petrarca.  Impossible  as  it  is  to  look  far  and  with  pleasure 
into  the  future,  what  a  privilege  is  it,  how  incomparably  greater 
than  any  other  that  genius  can  confer,  to  be  able  to  direct  the 
backward  flight  of  fancy  and  imagination  to  the  recesses  they 
most  delighted  in  !  to  be  able,  as  the  shadows  lengthen  in  our 
path,  to  call  up  before  us  the  youth  of  our  sympathies  in  all 
their  tenderness  and  purity  ! 

Boccaccio.  Mine  must  have  been  very  pure,  I  suspect,  for 
I  am  sure  they  were  very  tender.  But  I  need  not  call  them 
up, —  they  come  readily  enough  of  their  own  accord ;  and  I 
find  it  perplexing  at  times  to  get  entirely  rid  of  them.  Sighs 
are  very  troublesome  when  none  meet  them  half-way.  The 
worst  of  mine  now  are  while  I  am  walking  up  hill.  Even  to 
walk  upstairs,  which  used  occasionally  to  be  as  pleasant  an  ex- 
ercise as  any,  grows  sadly  too  much  for  me.  For  which  reason 
I  lie  here  below ;  and  it  is  handier  too  for  Assunta. 

Petrarca.  Very  judicious  and  considerate.  In  high  situa- 
tions, like  Certaldo  and  this  villetta,  there  is  no  danger 
from  fogs  or  damps  of  any  kind.  The  skylark  yonder  seems 
to  have  made  it  her  first  station  in  the  air. 

Boccaccio.     To  welcome  thee,  Francesco  ! 

Petrarca.  Rather  say,  to  remind  us  both  of  our  Dante. 
All  the  verses  that  ever  were  written  on  the  nightingale  are 
scarcely  worth  the  beautiful  triad  of  this  divine  poet  on  the  lark. 

"  La  lodoletta  che  in  acre  si  spazia, 
Prima  cantando,  e  poi  tace  contenta 
Dell'  ultima  dolcezza  che  la  sazia." 

In  the  first  of  them  do  not  you  see  the  twinkling  of  her  wings 
against  the  sky?  As  often  as  I  repeat  them  my  ear  is  satisfied, 
my  heart  (like  hers)  contented. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  37 

Boccaccio.  I  agree  with  you  in  the  perfect  and  unrivalled 
beauty  of  the  first ;  but  in  the  third  there  is  a  redundance.  Is 
not  contenta  quite  enough,  without  che  la  sazia  ?  The  picture 
is  before  us,  the  sentiment  within  us,  and  behold  !  we  kick 
when  we  are  full  of  manna. 

Petrarca.  I  acknowledge  the  correctness  and  propriety  of 
your  remark ;  and  yet  beauties  in  poetry  must  be  examined  as 
carefully  as  blemishes,  and  even  more,  for  we  are  more  easily 
led  away  by  them,  although  we  do  not  dwell  on  them  so  long. 
We  two  should  never  be  accused,  in  these  days,  of  malevolence 
to  Dante,  if  the  whole  world  heard  us.  Being  here  alone,  we 
may  hazard  our  opinions  even  less  guardedly,  and  set  each 
other  right  as  we  see  occasion. 

Boccaccio.  Come  on  then  !  I  will  venture.  I  will  go  back 
to  find  fault ;  I  will  seek  it  even  in  Francesca. 

To  hesitate,  and  waver,  and  turn  away  from  the  subject  was 
proper  and  befitting  in  her.  The  verse,  however,  in  no  respect 
satisfies  me.  Any  one  would  imagine  from  it  that  Galeotto  was 
really  both  the  title  of  the  book  and  the  name  of  the  author ; 
neither  of  which  is  true.  Galeotto,  in  the  "  Tavola  Ritonda,  " 
is  the  person  who  interchanges  the  correspondence  between 
Lancilotto  and  Ginevra.  The  appellation  is  now  become  the 
generic  of  all  men  whose  business  it  is  to  promote  the  success 
of  others  in  illicit  love.  Dante  was  stimulated  in  his  satirical 
vein  when  he  attributed  to  Francesca  a  ludicrous  expression, 
which  she  was  very  unlikely  in  her  own  nature,  and  greatly 
more  so  in  her  state  of  suffering,  to  employ  or  think  of,  whirled 
round  as  she  was  incessantly  with  her  lover.  Neither  was  it 
requisite  to  say  "  the  book  was  a  Galeotto,  and  so  was  the 
author, "  when  she  had  said  already  that  a  passage  in  it  had 
seduced  her.  Omitting  this  unnecessary  and  ungraceful  line, 
her  confusion  and  her  delicacy  are  the  more  evident,  and  the 
following  comes  forth  with  fresh  beauty.  In  the  commence- 
ment of  her  speech  I  wish  these  had  likewise  been  omitted, — 

"  E  cio  sa  il  tuo  dottore,"  — 

since  he  knew  no  more  about  it  than  anybody  else.  As  we 
proceed,  there  are  passages  in  which  I  cannot  find  my  way, 
and  where  I  suspect  the  poet  could  not  show  it  me.  For  in- 
stance, is  it  not  strange  that  Briareus  should  be  punished  in  the' 


38  THE    PENTAMERON. 

same  way  as  Nimrod,  when  Nimrod  sinned  against  the  living 
God,  and  when  Briareus  attempted  to  overthrow  one  of  the 
living  God's  worst  antagonists,  Jupiter  ?  —  an  action  which  our 
blessed  Lord  and  the  doctors  of  the  Holy  Church  not  only 
attempted,  but  (to  their  glory  and  praise  for  evermore) 
accomplished. 

Petrarca.  Equally  strange  that  Brutus  and  Cassius  (a  re- 
mark which  escaped  us  in  our  mention  of  them  yesterday) 
should  be  placed  in  the  hottest  pit  of  hell  for  slaying  Caesar, 
and  that  Cato,  who  would  have  done  the  same  thing  with  less 
compunction,  should  be  appointed  sole  guardian  and  governor 
of  purgatory. 

Boccaccio.  What  interest  could  he  have  made  to  be  pro- 
moted to  so  valuable  a  post  in  preference  to  doctors,  popes, 
confessors,  and  fathers  ?  Wonderful  indeed  !  and  they  never 
seemed  to  take  it  much  amiss. 

Petrarca.  Alighieri  not  only  throws  together  the  most  op- 
posite and  distant  characters,  but  even  makes  Jupiter  and  our 
Saviour  the  same  person, — 

"  E  se  lecito  m '  e,  o  sommo  Giove  ! 
Che  fosti  in  terra  per  noi  crocifisso" 

Boccaccio.  Jesus  Christ  ought  no  more  to  be  called  Jupiter 
than  Jupiter  ought  to  be  called  Jesus  Christ. 
•  Petrarca.  In  the  whole  of  the  "  Inferno  "  I  find  only  the 
descriptions  of  Francesca  and  of  Ugolino  at  all  admirable. 
Vigorous  expressions  there  are  many,  but  lost  in  their  appli- 
cation to  base  objects;  and  insulated  thoughts  in  high  relief, 
but  with  everything  crumbling  round  them.  Proportionally  to 
the  extent,  there  is  a  scantiness  of  poetry,  if  delight  is  the 
purpose  or  indication  of  it.  Intensity  shows  everywhere  the 
powerful  master ;  and  yet  intensity  is  not  invitation.  A  great 
poet  may  do  everything  but  repel  us.  Established  laws  are 
pliant  before  him  :  nevertheless,  his  office  hath  both  its  duties 
and  its  limits. 

Boccaccio.  The  simile  in  the  third  canto,  the  satire  at  the 
close  of  the  fourth,  and  the  description  at  the  commencement 
of  the  eighth,  if  not  highly  admirable,  are  what  no  ordinary 
poet  could  have  produced. 

Petrarca.     They  are   streaks  of   light  in   a  thunder-cloud. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  39 

You  might  have  added  the  beginning  of  the  twenty-seventh,  in 
which  the  poetry  of  itself  is  good,  although  not  excellent,  and 
the  subject  of  it  assuages  the  weariness  left  on  us,  after  passing 
through  so  many  holes  and  furnaces,  and  undergoing  the  dia- 
logue between  Simon  and  master  Adam. 

Boccaccio.  I  am  sorry  to  be  reminded  of  this.  It  is  like  the 
brawl  of  the  two  fellows  in  Horace's  "Journey  to  Brundusium." 
They  are  the  straitest  parallels  of  bad  wit  and  bad  poetry  that 
ancient  and  modern  times  exhibit.  Ought  I  to  speak  so  sharply 
of  poets  who  elsewhere  have  given  me  so  great  delight? 

Petrarca.  Surely  you  ought.  No  criticism  is  less  beneficial 
to  an  author  or  his  reader  than  one  tagged  with  favor  and 
tricked  with  courtesy.  The  gratification  of  our  humors  is  not 
the  intent  and  scope  of  criticism,  and  those  who  indulge  in  iti 
on  such  occasions  are  neither  wise  nor  honest. 

Boccaccio.  I  never  could  see  why  we  should  designedly 
and  prepensely  give  to  one  writer  more  than  his  due,  to  another 
less.  If  we  offer  an  honest  man  ten  crowns  when  we  owe  him 
only  five,  he  is  apt  to  be  offended.  The  perfumer  and  drug- 
gist weigh  out  the  commodity  before  them  to  a  single  grain. 
If  they  do  it  with  odors  and  powders,  should  not  we  attempt  it 
likewise,  in  what  is  either  the  nutriment  or  the  medicine  of  the 
mind  ?  I  do  not  wonder  that  Criticism  has  never  yet  been 
clear-sighted  and  expert  among  us  :  I  do,,  that  she  has  never 
been  dispassionate  and  unprejudiced.  (JThere  are  critics  who, 
lying  under  no  fear  of  a  future  state  in  literature,  and  all  whose 
hope  is  for  the  present  day,  commit  injustice  without  com- 
punction. Every  one  of  these  people  has  some  favorite  object 
for  the  embraces  of  his  hatred,  and  a  figure  of  straw  will  never 
serve  the  purpose.  He  must  throw  his  stone  at  what  stands 
out ;  he  must  twitch  the  skirt  of  him  who  is  ascending.  ,  Do 
you  imagine  that  the  worst  writers  of  any  age  were  treated  with 
as  much  asperity  as  you  and  I  ?  No,  Francesco  !  give  the  good 
folks  their  due  :  they  are  humaner  to  their  fellow- creatures. 

Petrarca.  Disregarding  the  ignorant  and  presumptuous,  we 
have  strengthened  our  language  by  dipping  it  afresh  in  its  purer 
and  higher  source,  and  have  called  the  Graces  back  to  it.  We 
never  have  heeded  how  Jupiter  would  have  spoken,  but  only 
how  the  wisest  men  would,  and  how  words  follow  the  move- 
ments of  the  mind.  There  are  rich  and  copious  veins  of 


4O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

mineral  in  regions  far  remote  from  commerce  and  habitations  : 
these  veins  are  useless ;  so  are  those  writings  of  which  the 
style  is  uninviting  and  inaccessible  through  its  ruggedness,  its 
chasms,  its  points,  its  perplexities,  its  obscurity.  There  are 
scarcely  three  authors,  besides  yourself,  who  appear  to  heed 
whether  any  guest  will  enter  the  gate,  quite  satisfied  with  the 
consciousness  that  they  have  stores  within.  Such  wealth  in 
another  generation  may  be  curious,  but  cannot  be  current. 
When  a  language  grows  up  all  into  stalk,  and  its  flowers  begin 
to  lose  somewhat  of  their  character,  we  must  go  forth  into  the 
open  fields,  through  the  dingles,  and  among  the  mountains 
for  fresh  seed.  Our  ancestors  did  this,  no  very  long  time  ago. 
Foremost  in  zeal,  in  vigor,  and  authority,  Alighieri  took  on  him- 
self the  same  patronage  and  guardianship  of  our  adolescent 
dialect  as  Homer  of  the  Greek ;  and  my  Giovanni  hath  since 
endowed  it  so  handsomely  that  additional  bequests,  we  may 
apprehend,  will  only  corrupt  its  principles,  and  render  it  lax 
and  lavish. 

Boccaccio.  Beware  of  violating  those  canons  of  criticism 
you  have  just  laid  down.  We  have  no  right  to  gratify  one  by 
misleading  another,  nor,  when  we  undertake  to  show  the  road, 
to  bandage  the  eyes  of  him  who  trusts  us  for  his  conductor. 
In  regard  to  censure,  those  only  speak  ill  who  speak  untruly, — 
unless  a  truth  be  barbed  by  malice  and  aimed  by  passion.  To 
be  useful  to  as  many  as  possible  is  the  especial  duty  of  a  critic, 
and  his  utility  can  be  attained  only  by  rectitude  and  precision. 
He  walks  in  a  garden  which  is  not  his  own  ;  and  he  neither 
must  gather  the  blossoms  to  embellish  his  discourse,  nor  break 
the  branches  to  display  his  strength.  Rather  let  him  point  to 
what  is  out  of  order,  and  help  to  raise  what  is  lying  on  the 
ground. 

Petrarca.  Auditors,  and  readers  in  general,  come  to  hear 
or  read,  not  your  opinion  delivered,  but  their  own  repeated. 
Fresh  notions  are  as  disagreeable  to  some  as  fresh  air  to  others ; 
and  this  inability  to  bear  them  is  equally  a  symptom  of  disease. 
Impatience  and  intolerance  are  sure  to  be  excited  at  any  check 
to  admiration  in  the  narratives  of  Ugolino  and  of  Francesca. 
Nothing  is  to  be  abated  :  they  are  not  only  to  be  admirable, 
but  entirely  faultless. 

Boccaccio.     You  have   proved  to  me  that  in  blaming  our 


THE    PENTAMERON.  41 

betters  we  ourselves  may  sometimes  be  unblamed.  When 
authors  are  removed  by  death  beyond  the  reach  of  irritation 
at  the  touch  of  an  infirmity,  we  best  consult  their  glory  by 
handling  their  works  comprehensively  and  unsparingly.  Vague 
and  indefinite  criticism  suits  only  slight  merit,  and  presupposes 
it.  Lineaments  irregular  and  profound  as  Dante's  are  worthy 
of  being  traced  with  patience  and  fidelity.  In  the  charts  of 
our  globe  we  find  distinctly  marked  the  promontories  and  in- 
dentations, and  oftentimes  the  direction  of  unprofitable  marshes 
and  impassable  sands  and  wildernesses :  level  surfaces  are  un- 
noted. I  would  not  detract  one  atom  from  the  worth  of  Dante, 
which  cannot  be  done  by  summing  it  up  exactly,  but  may  be 
by  negligence  in  the  computation. 

Petrarca.  Your  business  in  the  lectures  is  not  to  show  his 
merits,  but  his  meaning,  and  to  give  only  so  much  information 
as  may  be  given  without  offence  to  the  factious.  Whatever  you 
do  beyond  is  for  yourself,  your  friends,  and  futurity. 

Boccaccio.  I  may  write  more  lectures,  but  never  shall  deliver 
them  in  person,  as  the  first.  Probably,  so  near  as  I  am  to 
Florence,  and  so  dear  as  Florence  hath  always  been  to  me,  I 
shall  see  that  city  no  more.  The  last  time  I  saw  it,  I  only 
passed  through.  Four  years  ago,  you  remember,  I  lost  my 
friend  Acciaioli.  Early  in  the  summer  of  the  preceding,  his 
kindness  had  induced  him  to  invite  me  again  to  Naples,  and  I 
undertook  a  journey  to  the  place  where  my  life  had  been  too 
happy.  There  are  many  who  pay  dearly  for  sunshine  early  in 
the  season  :  many,  for  pleasure  in  the  prime  of  life.  After  one 
day  lost  in  idleness  at  Naples,  if  intense  and  incessant  thoughts 
(however  fruitless)  may  be  called  so,  I  proceeded  by  water  to 
Sorrento,  and  thence  over  the  mountains  to  Amalfi.  Here, 
amid  whatever  is  most  beautiful  and  most  wonderful  in  scenery, 
I  found  the  Seniscalco.  His  palace,  his  gardens,  his  terraces, 
his  woods,  abstracted  his  mind  entirely  from  the  solicitudes  of 
State ;  and  I  was  gratified  at  finding  in  the  absolute  ruler  of  a 
kingdom  the  absolute  master  of  his  time.  Rare  felicity  !  and 
he  enjoyed  it  the  more  after  the  toils  of  business  and  the  intri- 
cacies of  policy.  His  reception  of  me  was  most  cordial.  He 
showed  me  his  long  avenues  of  oranges  and  citrons ;  he  helped 
me  to  mount  the  banks  of  slippery  short  herbage,  whence  we 
could  look  down  on  their  dark  masses,  and  their  broad  irregular 


42  THE    PENTAMERON. 

belts,  gemmed  with  golden  fruit  and  sparkling  flowers.  We 
stood  high  above  them,  but  not  above  their  fragrance ;  and 
sometimes  we  wished  the  breeze  to  bring  us  it,  and  sometimes 
to  carry  a  part  of  it  away, —  and  the  breeze  came  and  went  as 
if  obedient  to  our  volition.  Another  day  he  conducted  me  far- 
ther from  the  palace,  and  showed  me.  with  greater  pride  than 
I  had  ever  seen  in  him  before,  the  pale-green  olives,  on  little 
smooth  plants,  the  first  year  of  their  bearing.  "  I  will  teach 
my  people  here,"  said  he,  "  to  make  as  delicate  oil  as  any  of 
our  Tuscans."  We  had  feasts  among  the  caverns ;  we  had 
dances  by  day  under  the  shade  of  the  mulberries,  by  night 
under  the  lamps  of  the  arcade ;  we  had  music  on  the  shore 
and  on  the  water. 

When  next  I  stood  before  him  it  was  afar  from  these. 
Torches  flamed  through  the  pine  forest  of  the  Certosa ;  priests 
and  monks  led  the  procession ;  the  sound  of  the  brook  alone 
filled  up  the  intervals  of  the  dirge,  and  other  plumes  than  the 
dancers'  waved  round  what  was  Acciaioli. 

Petrarca.  Since  in  his  family  there  was  nobody  who,  from 
education  or  pursuits  or  consanguinity,  could  greatly  interest 
him, —  nobody  to  whom  so  large  an  accumulation  of  riches 
would  not  rather  be  injurious  than  beneficial,  and  place  rather 
in  the  way  of  scoffs  and  carpings  than  exalt  to  respectability, — 
I  regret  that  he  omitted  to  provide  for  the  comforts  of  your 
advancing  years. 

Boccaccio.  The  friend  would  not  spoil  the  philosopher.  Our 
judgment  grows  the  stronger  by  the  dying-down  of  our  affections. 

Petrarca.  With  a  careful  politician  and  diplomatist  all 
things  find  their  places  but  men;  and  yet  he  thinks  he  has 
niched  it  nicely,  when,  as  the  gardener  is  left  in  the  garden,  the 
tailor  on  his  board  at  the  casement,  he  leaves  the  author  at  his 
desk :  to  remove  him  would  put  the  world  in  confusion. 

Boccaccio.  Acciaioli  knew  me  too  well  to  suppose  we  could 
serve  each  other;  and  his  own  capacity  was  amply  sufficient 
for  all  the  exigencies  of  the  State.  Generous,1  kind,  constant 
soul !  the  emblazoned  window  throws  now  its  rich  mantle  over 
him,  moved  gently  by  the  vernal  air  of  Marignole,  or,  as  the 
great  chapel  door  is  opened  to  some  visitor  of  distinction,  by 

1  This  sentiment  must  be  attributed  to  the  gratitude  of  Boccaccio,  not 
to  the  merits  of  Acciaioli,  who  treated  him  unworthily. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  43 

the  fresh  eastern  breeze  from  the  valley  of  the  Elsa.  We  too 
(mayhap)  shall  be  visited  in  the  same  condition,  but  in  a 
homelier  edifice,  but  in  a  humbler  sepulchre,  but  by  other  and 
far  different  guests  !  While  they  are  discussing  and  sorting  out 
our  merits,  which  are  usually  first  discovered  among  the  nettles 
in  the  church-yard,  we  will  carry  this  volume  with  us,  and  show 
Dante  what  we  have  been  doing. 

Petrarca.  We  have  each  of  us  had  our  warnings ;  indeed, 
all  men  have  them,  —  and  not  only  at  our  time  of  life,  but 
almost  every  day  of  their  existence.  They  come  to  us  even  in 
youth ;  although,  like  the  lightnings  that  are  said  to  play  in- 
cessantly, in  the  noon  and  in  the  morning  and  throughout  the 
year,  we  seldom  see  and  never  look  for  them.  Come,  as  you 
proposed,  let  us  now  continue  with  our  Dante. 

Ugolino  relates  to  him  his  terrible  dream,  in  which  he  fan- 
cied that  he  had  seen  Gualando,  Sismondi,  and  Lanfranco, 
killing  his  children ;  and  he  says  that  when  he  awakened  he 
heard  them  moan  in  their  sleep.  In  such  circumstances  his 
awakening  ought  rather  to  have  removed  the  impression  he 
labored  under,  since  it  showed  him  the  vanity  of  the  dream, 
and  afforded  him  the  consolation  that  the  children  were  alive. 
Yet  he  adds  immediately,  what,  if  he  were  to  speak  it  at  all, 
he  should  have  deferred, — 

"  You  are  very  cruel  if  you  do  not  begin  to  grieve,  consider- 
ing what  my  heart  presaged  to  me ;  and  if  you  do  not  weep  at 
it,  what  is  it  you  are  wont  to  weep  at?  " 

Boccaccio.  Certainly  this  is  ill-timed  ;  and  the  conference 
would  indeed  be  better  without  it  anywhere. 

Petrarca.     Farther  on,  in  whatever  way  we  interpret 

"  Poscia  piu  che  'I  dolor  pot£  '1  digiuno," 

the  poet  falls  sadly  from  his  sublimity. 

Boccaccio.  If  the  fact  were  as  he  mentions  he  should  have 
suppressed  it,  since  we  had  already  seen  the  most  pathetic  in 
the  features,  and  the  most  horrible  in  the  stride,  of  Famine. 
Gnawing,  not  in  hunger  but  in  rage  and  revenge,  the  arch- 
bishop's skull  is,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  rather  ludicrous  than 
tremendous. 

Petrarca.  In  mine,  rather  disgusting  than  ludicrous;  but 
Dante  (we  must  whisper  it)  is  the  great  master  of  the  disgust- 


44  THE    PENTAMERON. 

ing.  When  the  ancients  wrote  indecently  and  loosely,  they 
presented  what  either  had  something  alluring  or  something 
laughable  about  it ;  and  if  they  disgusted,  it  was  involuntarily. 
Indecency  is  the  most  shocking  in  deformity.  We  call  inde- 
cent, while  we  do  not  think  it,  the  nakedness  of  the  Graces 
and  the  Loves. 

Boccaccio.  When  we  are  less  barbarous  we  shall  become 
more  familiar  with  them,  more  tolerant  of  sliding  beauty,  more 
hospitable  to  erring  passion,  and  perhaps  as  indulgent  to  frailty 
as  we  now  are  to  ferocity.  I  wish  I  could  find  in  some  epi- 
taph, "  He  loved  so  many :  "  it  is  better  than,  "  He  killed  so 
many."  Yet  the  world  hangs  in  admiration  over  this  :  you  and 
I  should  be  found  alone  before  the  other. 

Petrarca.  Of  what  value  are  all  the  honors  we  can  expect 
from  the  wisest  of  our  species,  when  even  the  wisest  hold  us 
lighter  in  estimation  than  those  who  labor  to  destroy  what  God 
delighted  to  create,  came  on  earth  to  ransom,  and  suffered  on 
the  cross  to  save  !  Glory  then,  glory  can  it  be,  to  devise  with 
long  study,  and  to  execute  with  vast  exertions,  what  the  fang 
of  a  reptile  or  the  leaf  of  a  weed  accomplishes  in  an  hour? 
Shall  any  one  tell  me  that  the  numbers  sent  to  death  or  to 
wretchedness  make  the  difference,  and  constitute  the  great? 
Away  then  from  the  face  of  Nature  as  we  see  her  daily  !  away 
from  the  interminable  varieties  of  animated  creatures  !  away 
from  what  is  fixed  to  the  earth  and  lives  by  the  sun  and  dew  ! 
Brute  inert  matter  does  it :  behold  it  in  the  pestilence,  in  the 
earthquake,  in  the  conflagration,  in  the  deluge  ! 

Boccaccio.  Perhaps  we  shall  not  be  liked  the  better  for 
what  we  ourselves  have  written ;  yet  I  do  believe  we  shall  be 
thanked  for  having  brought  to  light,  and  for  having  sent  into 
circulation,  the  writings  of  other  men.  We  deserve  as  much, 
were  it  only  that  it  gives  people  an  opportunity  of  running  ovei 
us  (as  ants  over  the  images  of  gods  in  orchards),  and  of  reacts 
ing  by  our  means  the  less  crude  fruits  of  less  ungenial  days. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  we  have  spent  our  time  well  in  doing  it,  and 
enjoy  (what  idlers  never  can)  as  pleasant  a  view  in  looking 
back  as  forward. 

Now  do  tell  me,  before  we  say  more  of  the  "  Paradise," 
what  can  I  offer  in  defence  of  the  Latin  scraps  from  litanies 
and  lauds,  to  the  number  of  fifty  or  thereabout  ? 


THE    PENTAMERON.  45 

Petrarca.  Say  nothing  at  all,  unless  you  can  obtain  some 
Indulgences  for  repeating  them. 

Boccaccio.  And  then  such  verses  as  these,  and  several  score 
of  no  better  :  — 

"  I  credo  ch'  ei  credette  ch'  io  credessi, 
O  Jacomo,  dicea,  di  Sant  Andrea, 
Come  Livio  scrisse,  die  non  erra, 
Nel  quale  un  cinque  cento  dieci  e  cinque, 
Mille  ducento  con  sessanta  sei. 
Pepe  Satan,  Pepe  Satan,  Pepe. 
Raffael  mai  amec,  zabe,  alnri. 
Non  avria  pur  dell  orlo  fatto  crick" 

Petrarca.  There  is  no  occasion  to  look  into  and  investigate 
a  puddle,  —  we  perceive  at  first  sight  its  impurity ;  but  it  is  use- 
ful to  analyze,  if  we  can,  a  limpid  and  sparkling  water,  in  which 
the  common  observer  finds  nothing  but  transparency  and  fresh- 
ness, for  in  this,  however  the  idle  and  ignorant  ridicule  our 
process,  we  may  exhibit  what  is  unsuspected,  and  separate 
what  is  insalubrious.  We  must  do,  then,  for  our  poet  that 
which  other  men  do  for  themselves ;  we  must  defend  him  by 
advancing  the  best  authority  for  something  as  bad  or  worse ; 
and  although  it  puzzle  our  ingenuity,  yet  we  may  almost  make 
out  in  quantity,  and  quite  in  quality,  our  spicilege  from  Virgil 
himself.  If  younger  men  were  present,  I  would  admonish  and 
exhort  them  to  abate  no  more  of  their  reverence  for  the  Roman 
poet  on  the  demonstration  of  his  imperfections,  than  of  their 
love  for  a  parent  or  guardian  who  had  walked  with  them  far 
into  the  country,  and  had  shown  them  its  many  beauties  and 
blessings,  on  his  lassitude  or  his  debility.  Never  will  such 
men  receive  too  much  homage.  He  who  can  best  discover 
their  blemishes  will  best  appreciate  their  merit,  and  most  zeal- 
ously guard  their  honor.  The  flippancy  with  which  genius  is 
often  treated  by  mediocrity,  is  the  surest  sign  of  a  prostrate 
mind's  incontinence  and  impotence.  It  will  gratify  the  na- 
tional pride  of  our  Florentines,  if  you  show  them  how  greatly 
the  nobler  parts  of  their  fellow-citizen  excel  the  loftiest  of  his 
Mantuan  guide. 

Boccaccio.     Of  Virgil  ? 

Petrarca.     Even  so. 

Boccaccio.     He  had  no  suspicion  of  his  equality  with  this 


46  THE    PENTAMERON. 

prince  of  Roman  poets,  whose  footsteps  he  follows  with  rever- 
ential and  submissive  obsequiousness. 

Petrarca.  Have  you  never  observed  that  persons  of  high 
rank  universally  treat  their  equals  with  deference;  and  that 
ill-bred  ones  are  often  smart  and  captious?  Even  their  words 
are  uttered  with  a  brisk  and  rapid  air,  a  tone  higher  than  the 
natural,  to  sustain  the  factitious  consequence  and  vaporing  in- 
dependence they  assume.  Small  critics  and  small  poets  take 
all  this  courage  when  they  licentiously  shut  out  the  master; 
but  Dante  really  felt  the  veneration  he  would  impress.  Sus- 
picion of  his  superiority  he  had  none  whatever,  nor  perhaps 
have  you  yourself  much  more. 

Boccaccio.  I  take  all  proper  interest  in  my  author;  I  am 
sensible  to  the  duties  of  a  commentator ;  but  in  truth  I  dare 
hardly  entertain  that  exalted  notion.  I  should  have  the  whole 
world  against  me. 

Petrarca.  You  must  expect  it  for  any  exalted  notion,  —  for 
anything  that  so  startles  a  prejudice  as  to  arouse  a  suspicion 
that  it  may  be  dispelled.  You  must  expect  it  if  you  throw 
open  the  windows  of  infection.  Truth  is  only  unpleasant  in  its 
novelty.  He  who  first  utters  it,  says  to  his  hearer,  "  You  are 
less  wise  than  I  am."  Now,  who  likes  this? 

Boccaccio.  But  surely  if  there  are  some  very  high  places  in 
our  Alighieri,  the  inequalities  are  perpetual  and  vast ;  whereas  the 
regularity,  the  continuity,  the  purity  of  Virgil  are  proverbial. 

Petrarca.  It  is  only  in  literature  that  what  is  proverbial  is 
suspicious ;  and  mostly  in  poetry.  Do  we  find  in  Dante,  do 
we  find  in  Ovid,  such  tautologies  and  flatnesses  as  these :  — 

"  Quam  si  dura  silex  —  aut  stet  Marpesia  cautes 
Majus  adorata  nefas  —  majoremque  orsa  furorem. 
Arma  amens  capio  —  nee  sat  rationis  in  armis. 

Superatne  — et  vescitur  aura 

j&theria —  neque  adhuc  crudelibus  occubat  umbris  ? 
Omnes  — coelicolas  —  omnes  supera  alta  tenentes. 

Scuta  latentia  conduit t. 
Has  inter  voces  —  media  inter  talia  verba. 
Finem  dedit  —  ore  loquendi. 
Insonuere  cavae  —  sonitumque  dedere  cavernce. 
Ferro  accitam  —  crebrisque  bipennibus. 
Nee  nostri  generis  puerum  —  nee  sanguinis." 

Boccaccio.  These  things  look  very  ill  in  Latin,  and  yet  they 
had  quite  escaped  my  observation.  We  often  find  in  the 


THE    PENTAMERON.  47 

Psalms  of  David  one  section  of  a  sentence  placed  as  it  were 
in  symmetry  with  another,  and  not  at  all  supporting  it  by  pre- 
senting the  same  idea.  It  is  a  species  of  piety  to  drop  the 
nether  lip  in  admiration;  but  in  reality  it  is  not  only  the 
modern  taste  that  is  vitiated,  —  the  ancient  is  little  less  so,  al- 
though differently.  To  say  over  again  what  we  have  just  ceased 
to  say,  with  nothing  added,  nothing  improved,  is  equally  bad 
in  all  languages  and  all  times. 

Petrarca.  But  in  these  repetitions  we  may  imagine  one  part 
of  the  chorus  to  be  answering  another  part  opposite. 

Boccaccio.  Likely  enough.  However,  you  have  ransacked 
poor  Virgil  to  the  skin,  and  have  stripped  him  clean. 

Petrarca.  Of  all  who  have  ever  dealt  with  Winter,  he  is  the 
most  frost-bitten.  Hesiod's  description  of  the  snowy  season 
is  more  poetical  and  more  formidable.  What  do  you  think  of 
these  icicles,  — 

" CEraque  dissiliunt  vulgo ;  vesterque  rigescunt"  ? 

Boccaccio.     Wretched  falling- off. 

Petrarca.     He  comes  close  enough  presently,  — 

"  Stiriaque  hirsutis  dependent  horrida  barbis." 

We  will  withdraw  from  the  Alps  into  the  city.  And  now  are 
you  not  smitten  with  reverence  at  seeing 

"  Romanes  rerum  dominos  ;  gentemque  togatam  ? 
The  masters  of  the  world  —  and  long-tailed  coats  /" 

Come  to  Carthage.  What  a  recommendation  to  a  beautiful 
queen  does  ^Eneas  offer,  in  himself  and  his  associates  ! 

"  Ltipi  ceu 

Raptores;  atra  in  nebula,  quos  improba  ventris 
Exegit  caecos  rabies  !  " 

Ovid  is  censured  for  his 

"  Consiliis  non  citrribus  utere  nostris  ;  " 

Virgil  never  for 

"Inceptoque  et  sedibus  haeret  in  iisdem,"  — 

the  same  in  its  quality,  but  more  forced. 

The  affectation  of  Ovid  was  light  and  playful ;  Virgil's  was 
wilful,  perverse,  and  grammatistical.  Are  we  therefore  to  sup- 


48  THE    PENTAMERON. 

pose  that  every  hand  able  to  elaborate  a  sonnet  may  be  raised 
up  against  the  majesty  of  Virgil?  Is  ingratitude  so  rare  and 
precious  that  we  should  prefer  the  exposure  of  his  faults  to 
the  enjoyment  of  his  harmony?  He  first  delivered  it  to  his 
countrymen  in  unbroken  links  under  the  form  of  poetry,  ani 
consoled  them  for  the  eloquent  tongue  that  had  withered  on 
the  Rostra.  It  would  be  no  difficult  matter  to  point  out  at 
least  twenty  bad  passages  in  the  ^Eneid,  and  a  proportionate 
number  of  worse  in  the  Georgics.  In  your  comparison  of  poet 
with  poet,  the  defects  as  well  as  the  merits  of  each  ought  to 
be  placed  side  by  side.  This  is  the  rather  to  be  expected,  as 
Dante  professes  to  be  Virgil's  disciple.  You  may  easily  show 
that  his  humility  no  more  became  him  than  his  fierceness. 

Boccaccio.  You  have  praised  the  harmony  of  the  Roman 
poet.  Now,  in  single  verses  I  think  our  poetry  is  sometimes 
more  harmonious  than  the  Latin,  but  never  in  whole  sentences. 
Advantage  could  perhaps  be  taken  of  our  metre  if  we  broke 
through  the  stanza.  Our  language  is  capable,  I  think,  of  all 
the  vigor  and  expression  of  the  Latin ;  and  in  regard  to  the 
pauses  in  our  versification,  in  which  chiefly  the  harmony  of 
metre  consists,  we  have  greatly  the  advantage.  What  for 
instance  is  more  beautiful  than  your 

"  Solo  —  e  pensoso  —  i  piu  deserti  campi 
Vo  —  misurando  —  a  passi  tardi  —  e  lenti  "  ? 

Petrarca.  My  critics  have  found  fault  with  the  "  lenti," 
calling  it  an  expletive,  and  ignorant  that  equally  in  Italian  and 
Latin  the  word  signifies  both  slow  and  languid,  while  "  tardi " 
signifies  slow  only. 

Boccaccio.  Good  poetry,  like  good  music,  pleases  most 
people,  but  the  ignorant  and  inexpert  lose  half  its  pleasures ; 
the  invidious  lose  them  all.  What  a  paradise  lost  is  here  ! 

Petrarca.  If  we  deduct  the  inexpert,  the  ignorant,  and  the 
invidious,  can  we  correctly  say  it  pleases  most  people?  But 
either  my  worst  compositions  are  the  most  admired,  or  the  in- 
sincere and  malignant  bring  them  most  forward  for  admiration, 
keeping  the  others  in  the  background  !  Sonneteers,  in  con- 
sequence, have  started  up  from  all  quarters. 

Boccaccio.  The  sonnet  seems  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
languor  of  a  melancholy  and  despondent  love,  the  rhymes 


THE    PENTAMERO.N.  49 

returning  and  replying  to  every  plaint  and  every  pulsation. 
Our  poetasters  are  now  converting  it  into  the  penfold  and 
pound  of  stray  thoughts  and  vagrant  fancies.  No  sooner  have 
they  collected  in  their  excursions  as  much  matter  as  they  con- 
veniently can  manage,  than  they  seat  themselves  down  and 
set  busily  to  work,  punching  it  neatly  out  with  a  clever  cubic 
stamp  of  fourteen  lines  in  diameter. 

Petrarca.  A  pretty  sonnet  may  be  written  on  a  lambkin  or 
a  parsnip,  there  being  room  enough  for  truth  and  tenderness 
on  the  edge  of  a  leaf  or  the  tip  of  an  ear ;  but  a  great  poet 
must  clasp  the  higher  passions  breast  high,  and  compel  them 
in  an  authoritative  tone  to  answer  his  interrogatories. 

We  will  now  return  again  to  Virgil,  -and  consider  in  what  re- 
lation he  stands  to  Dante.  Our  Tuscan  and  Homer  are  never 
inflated. 

Boccaccio.  Pardon  my  interruption ;  but  do  you  find  that 
Virgil  is?  Surely  he  has  always  borne  the  character  of  the 
most  chaste,  the  most  temperate,  the  most  judicious  among 
the  poets. 

Petrarca.  And  will  not  soon  lose  it.  Yet  never  had  there 
swelled,  in  the  higher  or  the  lower  regions  of  poetry,  such  a 
gust  as  here  in  the  exordium  of  the  Georgics  :  — 

"Tuque  adeo,  quern  mox  quae  sint  habitura  deorum 
Concilia  incertum  est,  urbisne  invisere,  Caesar, 
Terrarumque  velis  curam,  et  te  maximus  orbis 
Auctorem  frugum  ?  —  " 

Boccaccio.     Already  forestalled  ! 
Petrarca. 

"  —  tempestatumque  potentem." 

Boccaccio.     Very  strange  coincidence  of  opposite  qualifica- 
tions, truly. 
Petrarca. 

"  Accipiat,  cingens  materna  tempora  myrto  : 
An  deus  immensi  venias  maris  —  " 

Boccaccio.     Surely  he  would  not  put  down  Neptune  ! 
Petrarca. 

"  —  ac  tua  nautae 
Numina  sola  colant :  tibi serviat  ultima  Thule" 

Boccaccio.     Catch  him  up  !  catch  him  up  !  uncoil  the  whole 

4 


$O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

of  the  vessel's  rope  !  never  did  man  fall  overboard  so  unluckily, 
or  sink  so  deep  on  a  sudden. 
Petrarca. 

"  Teque  sibi  generum  Tethys  emat  omnibus  undis  ?  " 

Boccaccio.  Nobody  in  his  senses  would  bid  against  her. 
What  indiscretion  !  and  at  her  time  of  life  too  ! 

"  Tethys  then  really,  most  gallant  Caesar, 
If  you  would  only  condescend  to  please  her, 
With  all  her  waves  would  your  good  graces  buy, 
And  you  should  govern  all  the  Isle  of  Skie." 
Petrarca. 

"  Anne  novum  tardis  sidus  te  mensibus  addas  ?  " 

Boccaccio.  For  what  purpose  ?  If  the  months  were  slow, 
he  was  not  likely  to  mend  their  speed  by  mounting  another 
passenger.  But  the  vacant  place  is  such  an  inviting  one  ! 

Petrarca. 

"  Qua  locus  Erigonen  inter  Chelasque  sequentes 
PanditUr  —  " 

Boccaccio.     Plenty  of  room,  sir  ! 
Petrarca. 

"  —  ipse  tibi  jam  brachia  contrahit  ardens 
Scorpius  —  " 

Boccaccio.     I  would  not  incommode  him  ;  I  would  beg  him 
to  be  quite  at  his  ease. 
Petrarca. 

"  —  et  cceli  justa  plus  parte  reliquit. 
Quicquid  eris  (nam  te  nee  sperent  Tartara  regem 
Nee  tibi  regnandi  veniet  tam  dira  cupido, 
Quamvis  Elysios  miretur  Graecia  campos, 
Nee  repetita  sequi  curet  Proserpina  matrem)." 

Boccaccio.  Was  it  not  enough  to  have  taken  all  Varro's  in- 
vocation, much  enlarged,  without  adding  these  verses  to  the 
other  twenty-three  ? 

Petrarca.  Vainly  will  you  pass  through  the  later  poets  of 
the  empire,  and  look  for  the  like  extravagance  and  bombast. 
Tell  me  candidly  your  opinion,  not  of  the  quantity  but  of  the 
quality. 

Boccaccio.  I  had  scarcely  formed  one  upon  them  before. 
Honestly  and  truly,  it  is  just  such  a  rumbling  rotundity  as 


THE   PENTAMERON.  51 

might  have  been  blown,  with  much  ado,  if  Lucan  and  Nero 
had  joined  their  pipes  and  puffed  together  into  the  same 
bladder.  I  never  have  admired,  since  I  was  a  schoolboy,  the 
commencement  or  the  conclusion  of  the  Georgics,  —  an  un- 
wholesome and  consuming  fungus  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  a 
withered  and  loose  branch  at  the  summit. 

Boccaccio.  Virgil  and  Dante  are  altogether  so  different  that, 
unless  you  will  lend  me  your  whole  store  of  ingenuity,  I  shall 
never  bring  them  to  bear  one  upon  the  other. 

Petrarca.  Frequently  the  points  of  comparison  are  salient 
in  proportion  as  the  angles  of  similitude  recede,  and  the  ab- 
sence of  a  quality  in  one  man  usually  makes  us  recollect  its 
presence  in  another ;  hence  the  comparison  is  at  the  same  time 
natural  and  involuntary.  Few  poets  are  so  different  as  Homer 
and  Virgil,  yet  no  comparison  has  been  made  oftener.  Ovid 
although  unlike  Homer,  is  greatly  more  like  him  than  Virgil  is ; 
for  there  is  the  same  facility,  and  apparently  the  same  negli- 
gence, in  both.  The  great  fault  in  the  "  Metamorphoses  "  is 
in  the  plan,  as  proposed  in  the  argument :  — 

"  primaque  ab  origine  mundi 
In  mea  perpetuum  deducere  tempora  carmen." 

Had  he  divided  the  more  interesting  of  the  tales,  and  omit- 
ted all  the  transformations,  he  would  have  written  a  greater 
number  of  exquisite  poems  than  any  author  of  Italy  or  Greece. 
He  wants  on  many  occasions  the  gravity  of  Virgil ;  he  wants 
on  all  the  variety  of  cadence ;  but  it  is  a  very  mistaken  notion 
that  he  either  has  heavier  faults  or  more  numerous.  His 
natural  air  of  levity,  his  unequalled  and  unfailing  ease,  have 
always  made  the  contrary  opinion  prevalent.  Errors  and  faults 
are  readily  supposed,  in  literature  as  in  life,  where  there  is 
much  gayety ;  and  the  appearance  of  ease,  among  those  who 
never  could  acquire  or  understand  it,  excites  a  suspicion  of 
negligence  and  faultiness.  Of  all  the  ancient  Romans,  Ovid 
had  the  finest  imagination ;  he  likewise  had  the  truest  tact  in 
judging  the  poetry  of  his  contemporaries  and  predecessors. 
Compare  his  estimate  with  Quintilian's  of  the  same  writers, 
and  this  will  strike  you  forcibly.  He  was  the  only  one  of  his 
countrymen  who  could  justly  appreciate  the  labors  of  Lucretius. 

"  Carmina  sublimis  tune  sunt  peritura  Lucreti, 
Exitio  terras  quum  dabit  una  dies." 


52  THE    PENTAMERON. 

And  the  kindness  with  which  he  rests  on  all  the  others,  shows 
a  benignity  of  disposition  which  is  often  lamentably  deficient 
in  authors  who  write  tenderly  upon  imaginary  occasions. 

I  begin  to  be  inclined  to  your  opinion  in  regard  to  the  advan- 
tages of  our  Italian  versification.  It  surely  has  a  greater  variety 
in  its  usual  measure  than  the  Latin,  in  dactyls  and  spondees. 
We  admit  several  feet  into  ours ;  the  Latin,  if  we  believe  the 
grammarians,  admits  only  two  into  the  heroic ;  and  at  least 
seven  verses  in  every  ten  conclude  with  a  dissyllabic  word. 

Boccaccio.  We  are  taught  indeed  that  the  final  foot  of  an 
hexameter  is  always  a  spondee ;  but  our  ears  deny  the  asser- 
tion, and  prove  to  us  that  it  never  is,  any  more  than  it  is  in 
the  Italian.  In  both  the  one  and  the  other  the  last  foot  is  uni- 
formly a  trochee  in  pronunciation.  There  is  only  one  species 
of  Latin  verse  which  ends  with  a  true  inflexible  spondee,  and 
this  is  the  scazon.  Its  name  of  the  limper  is  but  little  prepos- 
sessing, yet  the  two  most  beautiful  and  most  perfect  poems  of 
the  language  are  composed  in  it,  —  the  "Miser  Catulle  "  and 
the  "Sirmio." 

Petrarca.  This  is  likewise  my  opinion  of  those  two  little 
golden  images,  which  however  are  insufficient  to  raise  Catullus 
on  an  equality  with  Virgil :  nor  would  twenty  such.  Amplitude 
of  dimensions  is  requisite  to  constitute  the  greatness  of  a  poet, 
besides  his  symmetry  of  form  and  his  richness  of  decoration. 
We  have  conversed  more  than  once  together  on  the  defects 
and  oversights  of  the  correct  and  elaborate  Mantuan,  but  never 
without  the  expression  of  our  gratitude  for  the  exquisite  delight 
he  has  afforded  us.  We  may  forgive  him  his  Proteus  and  his 
Pollio ;  but  we  cannot  well  forbear  to  ask  him  how  ^Eneas 
came  to  know  that  Acragas  was  formerly  the  sire  of  high-mettled 
steeds,  even  if  such  had  been  the  fact.  But  such  was  only 
the  fact  a  thousand  years  afterward,  in  the  reign  of  Gelon. 

Boccaccio.  Was  it  then  ?  Were  the  horses  of  Gelon  and 
Theron  and  Hiero  of  Agrigentine  or  Sicilian  breed?  The 
country  was  never  celebrated  for  a  race  adapted  to  chariots ; 
such  horses  were  mostly  brought  from  Thessaly,  and  probably 
some  from  Africa.  I  do  not  believe  there  was  ever  a  fine  one 
in  Italy  before  the  invasion  of  Pyrrhus.  No  doubt,  Hannibal 
introduced  many.  Greece  herself,  I  suspect,  was  greatly  in- 
debted to  the  studs  of  Xerxes  for  the  noblest  of  her  prizes  on 


THE    PENTAMERON.  53 

the  Olympic  plain.  In  the  kingdom  of  Naples  I  have  observed 
more  horses  of  high  blood  than  in  any  other  quarter  of  Italy. 
It  is  there  that  Pyrrhus  and  Hannibal  were  stationary ;  and  long 
after  these  the  most  warlike  of  men,  the  Normans,  took  posses- 
sion of  the  country.  And  the  Normans  would  have  horses 
worthy  of  their  valor,  had  they  unyoked  them  from  the  chariot 
of  the  sun.  Subduers  of  France,  of  Sicily,  of  Cyprus,  they 
made  England  herself  accept  their  laws. 

Virgil,  I  remember,  in  the  Georgics,  has  given  some  direc- 
tions in  the  choice  of  horses.  He  speaks  unfavorably  of  the 
white ;  yet  painters  have  been  fond  of  representing  the  leaders 
of  armies  mounted  on  them.  And  the  reason  is  quite  as  good 
as  the  reason  of  a  writer  on  husbandry  (Cato  or  Columella)  for 
choosing  a  house-dog  of  a  contrary  color :  it  being  desirable 
that  a  general  should  be  as  conspicuous  as  possible,  and  a  dog, 
guarding  against  thieves,  as  invisible. 

I  love  beyond  measure  in  Virgil  his  kindness  toward  dumb 
creatures.  Although  he  represents  his  Mezentius  as  a  hater  of 
the  Gods,  and  so  inhuman  as  to  fasten  dead  bodies  to  the  living, 
and  violates  in  him  the  unity  of  character  more  than  character 
was  ever  violated  before,  we  treat  as  impossible  all  he  has 
been  telling  us  of  his  atrocities  when  we  hear  his  allocution  to 
Rhcebus. 

Petrarca.  The  dying  hero,  for  hero  he  is  transcendently 
above  all  the  others  in  the  ^Eneid,  is  not  only  the  kindest 
father,  not  only  the  most  passionate  in  his  grief  for  Lausus,  but 
likewise  gives  way  to  manly  sorrows  for  the  mute  companion 
of  his  warfare. 

"  Rhoebe  diu,  res  si  qua  diu  mortalibus  usquam, 
Viximus." 

Here  the  philosophical  reflection  addressed  to  the  worthy 
quadruped  on  the  brief  duration  of  human  and  equine  life,  is 
ill  applied.  It  is  not  the  thought  for  the  occasion,  it  is  not  the 
thought  for  the  man.  He  could  no  more  have  uttered  it  than 
Rhoebus  could  have  appreciated  it.  This  is  not,  however, 
quite  so  great  an  absurdity  as  the  tender  apostrophe  of  the 
monster  Proteus  to  the  dead  Eurydice.  Besides,  the  youth  of 
Lausus  and  the  activity  and  strength  of  Mezentius,  as  exerted 


54  THE    PENTAMERON. 

in  many  actions  just  before  his  fall,  do  not  allow  us  to  suppose 
that  he  who  says  to  his  horse 

"  Diu  viximus," 

had  passed  the  meridian  of  existence. 

Boccaccio.  Francesco,  it  is  a  pity  you  had  no  opportunity 
of  looking  into  the  mouth  of  the  good  horse  Rhoebus  ;  perhaps 
his  teeth  had  not  lost  all  their  marks. 

Petrarca.  They  would  have  been  lost  upon  me,  though 
horses'  mouths  to  the  intelligent  are  more  trustworthy  than 
many  others. 

Boccaccio.  I  have  always  been  of  opinion  that  Virgil  is  in- 
ferior to  Homer,  not  only  in  genius  but  in  judgment,  and  to 
an  equal  degree  at  the  very  least.  I  shall  never  dare  to  employ 
half  your  suggestions  in  our  irritable  city,  for  fear  of  raising  up 
two  new  factions,  —  the  Virgilians  and  the  Dantists.  . 

Petrarca.  I  wish  in  good  truth  and  seriousness  you  could 
raise  them,  or  anything  like  zeal  for  genius,  with  whomsoever 
it  might  abide. 

Boccaccio.  You  really  have  almost  put  me  out  of  conceit 
with  Virgil. 

Petrarca.  I  have  done  a  great  wrong  then  both  to  him  and 
you.  Admiration  is  not  the  pursuivant  to  all  the  steps  even 
of  an  admirable  poet ;  but  respect  is  stationary.  Attend  him 
where  the  ploughman  is  unyoking  the  sorrowful  ox  from  his 
companion  dead  at  the  furrow ;  follow  him  up  the  arduous 
ascent  where  he  springs  beyond  the  strides  of  Lucretius ;  and 
close  the  procession  of  his  glory  with  the  coursers  and  cars 
of  Elis. 


THIRD    DAY'S    INTERVIEW. 

IT  being  now  the  Lord's  Day,  Messer  Francesco  thought  it 
meet  that  he  should  rise  early  in  the  morning  and  bestir  him- 
self to  hear  Mass  in  the  parish  church  at  Certaldo.  Where- 
upon he  went  on  tiptoe,  if  so  weighty  a  man  could  indeed  go 
in  such  a  fashion,  and  lifted  softly  the  latch  of  Ser  Giovanni's 


THE    PENTAMERON.  55 

chamber-door,  that  he  might  salute  him  ere  he  departed,  and 
occasion  no  wonder  at  the  step  he  was  about  to  take.  He 
found  Ser  Giovanni  fast  asleep,  with  the  missal  wide  open  across 
his  nose,  and  a  pleasant  smile  on  his  genial  joyous  mouth.  Ser 
Francesco  leaned  over  the  couch,  closed  his  hands  together, 
and  looking  with  even  more  than  his  usual  benignity,  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "  God  bless  thee,  gentle  soul !  the  mother  of  purity 
and  innocence  protect  thee  !  " 

He  then  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  he  found  the  girl  As- 
sunta,  and  mentioned  his  resolution.  She  informed  him  that 
the  horse  had  eaten  his  two  beans,1  and  was  as  strong  as  a  lion 
and  as  ready  as  a  lover.  Ser  Francesco  patted  her  on  the 
cheek,  and  called  her  semplicetta  !  She  was  overjoyed  at  this 
honor  from  so  great  a  man,  the  bosom-friend  of  her  good 
master,  whom  she  had  always  thought  the  greatest  man  in  the 
world,  not  excepting  Monsignore,  until  he  told  her  he  was  only 
a  dog  confronted  with  Ser  Francesco.  She  tripped  alertly 
across  the  paved  court  into  the  stable,  and  took  down  the 
saddle  and  bridle  from  the  farther  end  of  the  rack.  But  Ser 
Francesco,  with  his  natural  politeness,  would  not  allow  her  to 
equip  his  palfrey. 

"  This  is  not  the  work  for  maidens,"  said  he  ;  "  return  to  the 
house,  good  girl !  " 

She  lingered  a  moment,  then  went  away;  but  mistrusting 
the  dexterity  of  Ser  Francesco,  she  stopped  and  turned  back 
again,  and  peeped  through  the  half-closed  door,  and  heard 
sundry  sobs  and  wheezes  round  about  the  girth.  Ser  Fran- 
cesco's wind  ill  seconded  his  intention ;  and  although  he  had 
thrown  the  saddle  valiantly  and  stoutly  in  its  station,  yet  the 
girths  brought  him  into  extremity.  She  entered  again,  and, 
dissembling  the  reason,  asked  him  whether  he  would  not  take 
a  small  beaker  of  the  sweet  white  wine  before  he  set  out,  and 
offered  to  girdle  the  horse  while  his  reverence  bitted  and 
bridled  him.  Before  any  answer  could  be  returned,  she  had 
begun ;  and  having  now  satisfactorily  executed  her  undertak- 
ing, she  felt  irrepressible  delight  and  glee  at  being  able  to  do 
what  Ser  Francesco  had  failed  in.  He  was  scarcely  more  suc- 
cessful with  his  allotment  of  the  labor ;  found  unlooked-for  in- 

1  Literally,  due  fave,  —  the  expression  on  such  occasions  to  signify  a 
small  quantity. 


56  THE    PENTAMERON. 

tricacies  and  complications  in  the  machinery,  wondered  that 
human  wit  could  not  simplify  it,  and  declared  that  the  animal 
had  never  exhibited  such  restiveness  before.  In  fact,  he  never 
had  experienced  the  same  grooming.  At  this  conjuncture,  a 
green  cap  made  its  appearance,  bound  with  straw-colored 
ribbon,  and  surmounted  with  two  bushy  sprigs  of  hawthorn,  of 
which  the  globular  buds  were  swelling,  and  some  bursting, 
but  fewer  yet  open.  It  was  young  Simplizio  Nardi,  who  some- 
times came  on  the  Sunday  morning  to  sweep  the  court-yard 
for  Assunta. 

"  Oh  !  this  time  you  are  come  just  when  you  were  wanted," 
said  the  girl.  "  Bridle,  directly,  Ser  Francesco's  horse,  and 
then  go  away  about  your  business." 

The  youth  blushed,  and  kissed  Ser  Francesco's  hand,  begging 
his  permission.  It  was  soon  done.  He  then  held  the  stirrup  ; 
and  Ser  Francesco,  with  scarcely  three  efforts,  was  seated  and 
erect  on  the  saddle.  The  horse,  however,  had  somewhat  more 
inclination  for  the  stable  than  for  the  expedition,  and  as  As- 
sunta was  handing  to  the  rider  his  long  ebony  staff,  bearing  an 
ivory  caduceus,  the  quadruped  turned  suddenly  round.  Sim- 
plizio called  him  bestiaccia  !  and  then,  softening  it,  poco  gar- 
bato  f  and  proposed  to  Ser  Francesco  that  he  should  leave  the 
bastone  behind,  and  take  the  crab-switch  he  presented  to  him, 
giving  at  the  same  time  a  sample  of  its  efficacy,  which  covered 
the  long  grizzly  hair  of  the  worthy  quadruped  with  a  profusion 
of  pink  blossoms,  like  embroidery.  The  offer  was  declined ; 
but  Assunta  told  Simplizio  to  carry  it  himself,  and  to  walk 
by  the  side  of  Ser  Canonico  quite  up  to  the  church  porch, 
having  seen  what  a  sad  dangerous  beast  his  reverence  had 
under  him. 

With  perfect  good-will,  partly  in  the  pride  of  obedience  to 
Assunta,  and  partly  to  enjoy  the  renown  of  accompanying  a 
canon  of  Holy  Church,  Simplizio  did  as  she  enjoined. 

And  now  the  sound  of  village  bells,  in  many  hamlets  and 
convents  and  churches  out  of  sight,  was  indistinctly  heard,  and 
lost  again ;  and  at  last  the  five  of  Certaldo  seemed  to  crow 
over  the  faintness  of  them  all.  The  freshness  of  the  morning 
was  enough  of  itself  to  excite  the  spirits  of  youth,  —  a  portion 
of  which  never  fails  to  descend  on  years  that  are  far  removed 
from  it,  if  the  mind  has  partaken  in  innocent  mirth  while  it 


THE    PENTAMERON.  57 

was  its  season  and  its  duty  to  enjoy  it.  Parties  of  young  and 
old  passed  the  canonico  and  his  attendant  with  mute  respect, 
bowing  and  bare-headed  ;  for  that  ebony  staff  threw  its  spell 
over  the  tongue,  which  the  frank  and  hearty  salutation  of  the 
bearer  was  inadequate  to  break.  Simplizio  once  or  twice 
attempted  to  call  back  an  intimate  of  the  same  age  with  him- 
self; but  the  utmost  he  could  obtain  was  a  riveritissimo,  and 
a  genuflection  to  the  rider.  It  is  reported  that  a  heart- burning 
rose  up  from  it  in  the  breast  of  a  cousin,  some  days  after,  too 
distinctly  apparent  in  the  long-drawn  appellation  of  Gnor1 
Simplizio. 

Ser  Francesco  moved  gradually  forward,  his  steed  picking 
his  way  along  the  lane,  and  looking  fixedly  on  the  stones  with 
all  the  sobriety  of  a  mineralogist.  He  himself  was  well  satis- 
fied with  the  pace,  and  told  Simplizio  to  be  sparing  of  the 
switch,  unless  in  case  of  a  hornet  or  gadfly.  Simplizio  smiled, 
toward  the  hedge,  and  wondered  at  the  condescension  of  so 
great  a  theologian  and  astrologer  in  joking  with  him  about  the 
gadflies  and  hornets  in  the  beginning  of  April.  "  Ah  !  there 
are  men  in  the  world  who  can  make  wit  out  of  anything  !  "  said 
he  to  himself. 

As  they  approached  the  walls  of  the  town,  the  whole  country 
was  pervaded  by  a  stirring  and  diversified  air  of  gladness. 
Laughter  and  songs  and  flutes  and  viols,  inviting  voices  and 
complying  responses,  mingled  with  merry  bells  and  with  pro- 
cessional hymns,  along  the" woodland  paths  and  along  the  yellow 
meadows.  It  was  really  the  Lord's  Day,  for  he  made  his  crea- 
tures happy  in  it,  and  their  hearts  were  thankful.  Even  the  cruel 
had  ceased  from  cruelty ;  and  the  rich  man  alone  exacted  from 
the  animal  his  daily  labor.  Ser  Francesco  made  this  remark, 
and  told  his  youthful  guide  that  he  had  never  been  before 
where  he  could  not  walk  to  church  on  a  Sunday ;  and  that 
nothing  should  persuade  him  to  urge  the  speed  of  his  beast, 
on  the  seventh  day,  beyond  his  natural  and  willing  foot's-pace. 
He  reached  the  gates  of  Certaldo  more  than  half  an  hour 
before  the  time  of  service,  and  he  found  laurels  suspended 
over  them,  and  being  suspended ;  and  many  pleasant  and 
beautiful  faces  were  protruded  between  the  ranks  of  gentry 
and  clergy  who  awaited  him.  Little  did  he  expect  such  an 

1  Contraction  of  signer,  customary  in  Tuscany. 


58  THE    PENTAMERON. 

attendance ;  but  Fra  Biagio  of  San  Vivaldo,  who  himself  had 
offered  no  obsequiousness  or  respect,  had  scattered  the  secret 
of  his  visit  throughout  the  whole  country.  A  young  poet,  the 
most  celebrated  in  the  town,  approached  the  canonico  with  a 
long  scroll  of  verses,  which  fell  below  the  knee,  beginning  — 

"  How  shall  we  welcome  our  illustrious  guest  ? " 

To  which  Ser  Francesco  immediately  replied,  "  Take  your 
favorite  maiden,  lead  the  dance  with  her,  and  bid  all  your 
friends  follow ;  you  have  a  good  half-hour  for  it." 

Universal  applauses  succeeded,  the  music  struck  up,  couples 
were  instantly  formed.  The  gentry  on  this  occasion  led  out 
the  cittadinanza,  as  they  usually  do  in  the  villeggiatura,  —  rarely 
in  the  carnival,  and  never  at  other  times.  The  elder  of  the 
priests  stood  round  in  their  sacred  vestments,  and  looked  with 
cordiality  and  approbation  on  the  youths,  whose  hands  and 
arms  could  indeed  do  much,  and  did  it,  but  whose  active  eyes 
could  rarely  move  upward  the  modester  of  their  partners. 

While  the  elder  of  the  clergy  were  thus  gathering  the  fruits 
of  their  liberal  cares  and  paternal  exhortations,  some  of  the 
younger  looked  on  with  a  tenderer  sentiment,  not  unmingled 
with  regret.  Suddenly  the  bells  ceased  ;  the  figure  of  the  dance 
was  broken ;  all  hastened  into  the  church  ;  and  many  hands 
that  joined  on  the  green  met  together  at  the  font,  and  touched 
the  brow  reciprocally  with  its  lustral  waters  in  soul-devotion. 

After  the  service,  and  after  a  sermon  a  good  church-hour 
in  length  to  gratify  him,  enriched  with  compliments  from  all 
authors,  Christian  and  Pagan,  informing  him  at  the  conclusion 
that  although  he  had  been  crowned  in  the  Capitol  he  must 
die,  being  born  mortal,  Ser  Francesco  rode  homeward.  The 
sermon  seemed  to  have  sunk  deeply  into  him,  and  even  into 
the  horse  under  him,  for  both  of  them  nodded,  both  snorted, 
and  one  stumbled.  Simplizio  was  twice  fain  to  cry,  — 

"  Ser  Canonico  !  Riverenza  !  in  this  country  if  we  sleep 
before  dinner  it  does  us  harm.  There  are  stones  in  the  road, 
Ser  Canonico,  loose  as  eggs  in  a  nest,  and  pretty  nigh  as  thick 
together,  huge  as  mountains." 

"  Good  lad,"  said  Ser  Francesco,  rubbing  his  eyes,  "  toss 
the  biggest  of  them  out  of  the  way,  and  never  mind  the 
rest." 


THE    PENTAMERON.  59 

The  horse,  although  he  walked,  shuffled  almost  into  an  amble 
as  he  approached  the  stable,  and  his  master  looked  up  at  it 
with  nearly  the  same  contentment.  Assunta  had  been  ordered 
to  wait  for  his  return,  'and  cried, — 

"  O  Ser  Francesco  !  you  are  looking  at  our  long  apricot,  that 
runs  the  whole  length  of  the  stable  and  barn,  covered  with 
blossoms  as  the  old  white  hen  is  with  feathers.  You  must 
come  in  the  summer,  and  eat  this  fine  fruit  with  Signer  Padrone. 
You  cannot  think  how  ruddy  and  golden  and  sweet  and  mel- 
low it  is.  There  are  peaches  in  all  the  fields,  and  plums  and 
pears  and  apples,  but  there  is  not  another  apricot  for  miles 
and  miles.  Ser  Giovanni  brought  the  stone  from  Naples  before 
I  was  born ;  a  lady  gave  it  to  him  when  she  had  eaten  only 
half  the  fruit  off  it :  but  perhaps  you  may  have  seen  her,  for 
you  have  ridden  as  far  as  Rome,  or  beyond.  Padrone  looks 
often  at  the  fruit,  and  eats  it  willingly ;  and  I  have  seen  him 
turn  over  the  stones  in  his  plate,  and  choose  one  out  from  the 
rest  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  but  never  plant  it." 

"  Where  is  the  youth?  "  inquired  Ser  Francesco. 

"  Gone  away,"  answered  the  maiden. 

"  I  wanted  to  thank  him,"  said  the  canonico. 

"  May  I  tell  him  so?  "  asked  she. 

"And  give  him,"  continued  he,  holding  a  piece  of  silver  — 

"  I  will  give  him  something  of  my  own,  if  he  goes  on  and 
behaves  well,"  said  she ;  "  but  Signer  Padrone  would  drive  him 
away  forever,  I  am.  sure,  if  he  were  tempted  in  an  evil  hour  to 
accept  a  quattrino  for  any  service  he  could  render  the  friends 
of  the  house." 

Ser  Francesco  was  delighted  with  the  graceful  animation  of 
this  ingenuous  girl,  and  asked  her,  with  a  little  curiosity,  how 
she  could  afford  to  make  him  a  present. 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  make  him  a  present,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
it  is  better  he  should  be  rewarded  by  me,"  —  she  blushed  and 
hesitated,  —  "  or  by  Signer  Padrone,"  she  added,  "  than  by 
your  reverence.  He  has  not  done  half  his  duty  yet,  —  not 
half.  I  will  teach  him  •  he  is  quite  a  child  —  four  months 
younger  than  me." 

Ser  Francesco  went  into  the  house,  saying  to  himself  at  the 
doorway,  "  Truth,  innocence,  and  gentle  manners  have  not  yet 
left  the  earth.  There  are  sermons  that  never  make  the  ears 


6O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

weary.  I  have  heard  but  few  of  them,  and  come  from  church 
for  this." 

Whether  Simplizio  had  obeyed  some  private  signal  from  As- 
sunta,  or  whether  his  own  delicacy  had  prompted  him  to  dis- 
appear, he  was  now  again  in  the  stable,  and  the  manger  was 
replenished  with  hay.  A  bucket  was  soon  after  heard  ascend- 
ing from  the  well ;  and  then  two  words,  "  Thanks,  Simplizio." 

When  Petrarca  entered  the  chamber  he  found  Boccaccio  with 
his  breviary  in  his  hand,  not  looking  into  it,  indeed,  but  re- 
peating a  thanksgiving  in  an  audible  and  impassioned  tone  of 
voice.  Seeing  Ser  Francesco,  he  laid  the  book  down  beside 
him,  and  welcomed  him. 

"  I  hope  you  have  an  appetite  after  your  ride,"  said  he, 
"  for  you  have  sent  home  a  good  dinner  before  you." 

Ser  Francesco  did  not  comprehend  him,  and  expressed  it 
not  in  words  but  in  looks. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  dine  sadly  late  to-day ;  noon  has 
struck  this  half-hour,  and  you  must  wait  another,  I  doubt. 
However,  by  good  luck  I  had  a  couple  of  citrons  in  the  house, 
intended  to  assuage  my  thirst  if  the  fever  had  continued.  This 
being  over,  by  God's  mercy,  I  will  try  (please  God  !)  whether 
we  two  greyhounds  cannot  be  a  match  for  a  leveret." 

"  How  is  this?  "  said  Ser  Francesco. 

"  Young  Marc- Antonio  Grilli,  the  cleverest  lad  in  the  parish 
at  noosing  any  wild  animal,  is  our  patron  of  the  feast.  He  has 
wanted  for  many  a  day  to  say  something  iij  the  ear  of  Matilda 
Vercelli.  Bringing  up  the  leveret  to  my  bedside,  and  opening 
the  lips  and  cracking  the  knuckles,  and  turning  the  foot  round 
to  show  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  hair  upon  it,  and  to 
prove  that  it  really  and  truly  was  a  leveret  and  might  be  eaten 
without  offence  to  my  teeth,  he  informed  me  that  he  had  left 
his  mother  in  the  yard,  ready  to  dress  it  for  me ;  she  having 
been  cook  to  the  prior.  He  protested  he  owed  the  crowned 
martyr  a  forest  of  leverets,  boars,  deer,  and  everything  else 
within  them,  for  having  commanded  the  most  backward  girls 
to  dance  directly.  Whereupon  he  darted  forth  at  Matilda, 
saying,  '  The  crowned  martyr  orders  it,'  seizing  both  her 
hands,  and  swinging  her  round  before  she  knew  what  she 
was  about.  He  soon  had  an  opportunity  of  applying  a  word, 
no  doubt  as  dexterously  as  hand  or  foot;  and  she  said  sub- 


THE    PENTAMERON.  6 1 

missively,  but  seriously,  and  almost  sadly,  '  Marc- Antonio,  now 
all  the  people  have  seen  it,  they  will  think  it.'  And,  after  a 
pause,  *  I  am  quite  ashamed,  and  so  should  you  be  :  are  not 
you  now  ?  ' 

"  The  others  had  run  into  the  church.  Matilda,  who  scarcely 
had  noticed  it,  cried  suddenly,  '  O  Santissima  !  we  are  quite 
alone.' 

"  '  Will  you  be  mine  ?  '  cried  he,  enthusiastically. 

"  *  Oh,  they  will  hear  you  in  the  church,'  replied  she. 

"  '  They  shall,  they  shall ! '  cried  he  again,  as  loudly. 

"  « If  you  will  only  go  away.' 

"  '  And  then  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  yes,  indeed.' 

"  '  The  Virgin  hears  you  ;  fifty  saints  are  witnesses.' 

"  « Ah  !  they  know  you  made  me  ;  they  will  look  kindly  on 
us.' 

"  He  released  her  hand ;  she  ran  into  the  church  doubling 
her  veil  (I  will  answer  for  her)  at  the  door,  and  kneeling  as 
near  it  as  she  could  find  a  place. 

"  '  By  Saint  Peter,'  said  Marc- Antonio,  '  if  there  is  a  leveret 
in  the  wood,  the  crowned  martyr  shall  dine  upon  it  this  blessed 
day.'  And  he  bounded  off,  and  set  about  his  occupation.  I 
inquired  what  induced  him  to  designate  you  by  such  a  title. 
He  answered,  that  everybody  knew  you  had  received  the 
crown  of  martyrdom  at  Rome,  between  the  pope  and  anti- 
pope,  and  had  performed  many  miracles,  for  which  they  had 
canonized  you,  and  that  you  wanted  only  to  die  to  become  a 
saint." 

The  leveret  was  now  served  up,  cut  into  small  pieces,  and 
covered  with  a  rich  tenacious  sauce,  composed  of  sugar,  citron, 
and  various  spices.  The  appetite  of  Ser  Francesco  was  con- 
tagious. Never  was  dinner  more  enjoyed  by  two  compan- 
ions, and  never  so  much  by  a  greater  number.  One  glass  of 
a  fragrant  wine,  the  color  of  honey,  and  unmixed  with  water, 
crowned  the  repast.  Ser  Francesco  then  went  into  his  own 
chamber,  and  found  on  his  ample  mattress  a  cool  refresh- 
ing sleep,  quite  sufficient  to  remove  'all  the  fatigues  of  the 
morning ;  and  Ser  Giovanni  lowered  the  pillow  against  which 
he  had  seated  himself,  and  fell  into  his  usual  repose.  Their 
separation  was  not  of  long  continuance  ;  and  the  religious  du- 


62  THE    PENTAMERON. 

ties  of  the  Sabbath  having  been  performed,  a  few  reflections 
on  literature  were  no  longer  interdicted. 

Boccaccio.  How  happens  it,  O  Francesco  !  that  nearly  at 
the  close  of  our  lives,  after  all  our  efforts  and  exhortations,  we 
are  standing  quite  alone  in  the  extensive  fields  of  literature? 
We  are  only  like  to  scoria  struck  from  the  anvil  of  the  gigantic 
Dante.  We  carry  our  fire  along  with  us  in  our  parabola,  and 
behold  !  it  falls  extinguished  on  the  earth. 

Petrarca.  Courage  !  courage  !  we  have  hardly  yet  lighted 
the  lamp  and  shown  the  way. 

Boccaccio.  You  are  a  poet ;  I  am  only  a  commentator,  and 
must  soothe  my  own  failures  in  the  success  of  my  master. 

I  cannot  but  think,  again  and  again,  how  fruitlessly  the 
bravest  have  striven  to  perpetuate  the  ascendency  or  to  estab- 
lish the  basis  of  empire,  when  Alighieri  hath  fixed  a  language 
for  thousands  of  years  and  for  myriads  of  men,  —  a  language 
far  richer  and  more  beautiful  than  our  glorious  Italy  ever  knew 
before,  in  any  of  her  regions,  since  the  Attic  and  the  Dorian 
contended  for  the  prize  of  eloquence  on  her  southern  shores. 
Eternal  honor,  eternal  veneration,  to  him  who  raised  up  our 
country  from  the  barbarism  that  surrounded  her  !  Remember 
how  short  a  time  before  him,  his  master  Brunette  Latini  wrote 
in  French  :  prose  indeed ;  but  whatever  has  enough  in  it  for 
poetry,  has  enough  for  prose  out  of  its  shreds  and  selvages. 

Petrarca.  Brunetto  !  Brunetto  !  it  was  not  well  done  in 
thee.  An  Italian,  a  poet,  write  in  French  !  What  human  ear 
can  tolerate  its  nasty  nasalities,  what  homely  intellect  be  sat- 
isfied with  its  bare-bone  poverty?  By  good  fortune  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it  in  the  course  of  our  examination.  Several 
things  in  Dante  himself  you  will  find  more  easy  to  explain  than 
to  excuse.  You  have  already  given  me  a  specimen  of  them, 
which  I  need  not  assist  you  in  rendering  more  copious. 

Boccaccio.  There  are  certainly  some  that  require  no  little 
circumspection.  Difficult  as  they  are  to  excuse,  the  difficulty 
lies  more  on  the  side  of  the  clergy  than  the  laity. 

Petrarca.  I  understand  you.  The  gergo  of  your  author 
has  always  a  reference  to  the  court  of  the  Vatican.  Here  he 
speaks  in  the  dark  :  against  his  private  enemies  he  always  is 
clear  and  explicit. 

Unless  you  are  irresistibly  pressed  into  it,  give  no  more  than 


THE    PENTAMERON.  63 

two,  or  at  most  three,  lectures  on  the  verse  which  I  predict 
will  appear  to  our  Florentines  the  cleverest  in  the  poem,  — 

"  Che  vel  viso  degli  uomini  legge  O  M  O." 

Boccaccio.  We  were  very  near  a  new  civil  war  about  the 
interpretation  of  it. 

Petrarca.  Foolisher  questions  have  excited  general  ones. 
What,  I  wonder,  rendered  you  all  thus  reasonable  at  last? 

Boccaccio.  The  majority,  which  on  few  occasions  is  so  much 
in  the  right,  agreed  with  me  that  the  two  eyes  are  signified  by 
the  two  vowels,  the  nose  by  the  centre  of  the  consonant,  and 
the  temples  by  its  exterior  lines. 

Petrarca.  In  proceeding  to  explore  the  "  Paradise  "  more 
minutely,  I  must  caution  you  against  remarking  to  your  audi- 
ence, that,  although  the  nose  is  between  the  eyes,  the  temples 
are  not,  exactly,  —  an  observation  which,  if  well  established, 
might  be  resented  as  somewhat  injurious  to  the  Divinity  of 
the  "  Commedia." 

Boccaccio.  With  all  its  flatnesses  and  swamps,  many  have 
preferred  the  "  Paradiso "  to  the  other  two  sections  of  the 
poem. 

Petrarca.  There  is  as  little  in  it  of  very  bad  poetry  —  or  we 
may  rather  say,  as  little  of  what  is  no  poetry  at  all  —  as  in  either, 
which  are  uninviting  from  an  absolute  lack  of  interest  and  allu- 
sion, from  the  confusedness  of  the  ground-work,  the  indistinct- 
ness of  the  scene,  and  the  paltriness  (in  great  measure)  of  the 
agents.  If  we  are  amazed  at  the  number  of  Latin  verses  in 
the  "  Inferno  "  and  "  Purgatorio,"  what  must  we  be  at  their  fer- 
tility in  the  "  Paradiso,"  where  they  drop  on  us  in  ripe  clusters 
through  every  glen  and  avenue  !  We  reach  the  conclusion  of 
the  sixteenth  canto  before  we  come  in  sight  of  poetry,  or  more 
than  a  glade  with  a  gleam  upon  it.  Here  we  find  a  description 
of  Florence  in  her  age  of  innocence  ;  but  the  scourge  of  satire 
sounds  in  our  ears  before  we  fix  the  attention. 

Boccaccio.  I  like  the  old  Ghibelline  best  in  the  seventeenth, 
where  he  dismisses  the  doctors,  corks  up  the  Latin,  ceases  from 
psalmody,  looses  the  arms  of  Calfucci  and  Arigucci,  sets  down 
Caponsacco  in  the  market,  and  gives  us  a  stave  of  six  verses 
which  repays  us  amply  for  our  heaviest  toils  and  sufferings,  — 

"  Tu  lascierai  ogni  cosa  diletta,"  etc. 


64  THE    PENTAMERON. 

But  he  soon  grows  weary  of  tenderness  and  sick  of  sorrow,  and 
returns  to  his  habitual  exercise  of  throwing  stones  and  calling 
names. 

Again  we  are  refreshed  in  the  twentieth.  Here  we  come  to 
the  simile ;  here  we  look  up  and  see  his  lark,  and  are  happy 
and  lively  as  herself.  Too  soon  the  hard  fingers  of  the  master 
are  round  our  wrists  again ;  we  are  dragged  into  the  school, 
and  are  obliged  to  attend  the  divinity  examination,  which  the 
poet  undergoes  from  Saint  Simon- Peter.  He  acquits  himself 
pretty  well,  and  receives  a  handsome  compliment  from  the 
questioner,  who,  "  inflamed  with  love,"  acknowledges  he  has 
given  "  a  good  account  of  the  coinage,  both  in  regard  to 
weight  and  alloy." 

"Tell  me,"  continues  he,  "have  you  any  of  it  in  your 
pocket?" 

"  Yea,"  replies  the  scholar,  "  and  so  shining  and  round  that 
I  doubt  not  what  mint  it  comes  from." 

Saint  Simon- Peter  does  not  take  him  at  his  word  for  it,  but 
tries  to  puzzle  and  pose  him  with  several  hard  queries.  He 
answers  both  warily  and  wittily,  and  grows  so  contented  with 
his  examining  master,  that,  instead  of  calling  him  "  a  sergeant 
of  infantry,"  as  he  did  before,  he  now  entitles  him  "  the 
baron." 

I  must  consult  our  bishop  ere  I  venture  to  comment  on  these 
two  verses,  — 

"  Credo  una  essenza,  si  una  e  si  trina 
Che  soffera  congiunto  snnt  et  este"  — 

as,  whatever  may  peradventure  lie  within  them,  they  are  hardly 
worth  the  ceremony  of  being  burned  alive  for,  although  it  should 
be  at  the  expense  of  the  Church. 

Petrarca.  I  recommend  to  you  the  straightforward  course ; 
but  I  believe  I  must  halt  a  little,  and  advise  you  to  look  about 
you.  If  you  let  people  see  that  there  are  so  many  faults  in  your 
author,  they  will  reward  you,  not  according  to  your  merits,  but 
according  to  its  defects.  On  celebrated  writers,  when  we  speak 
in  public,  it  is  safer  to  speak  magnificently  than  correctly. 
Therefore  be  not  too  cautious  in  leading  your  disciples  and  in 
telling  them,  Here  you  may  step  securely,  here  you  must  mind 
your  footing ;  for  a  florin  will  drop  out  of  your  pocket  at  every 
such  crevice  you  stop  to  cross. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  65 

Boccaccio.  The  room  is  hardly  light  enough  to  let  me  see 
whether  you  are  smiling ;  but  being  the  most  ingenuous  soul 
alive,  and  by  no  means  the  least  jocose  one,  I  suspect  it.  My 
office  is  to  explain  what  is  difficult,  rather  than  to  expatiate  on 
what  is  beautiful  or  to  investigate  what  is  amiss.  If  those  who 
invite  me  to  read  the  lectures  mark  out  the  topics  for  me, 
nothing  is  easier  than  to  keep  within  them.  Yet  with  how  true 
and  entire  a  pleasure  shall  I  point  out  to  my  fellow-citizens  such 
a  glorious  tract  of  splendor  as  there  is  in  the  single  line, — 

'*  Cio  ch'  io  vedevo  mi  sembrava  un  riso 
Dell'  universe ! " 

With  what  exultation  shall  I  toss  up  my  gauntlet  into  the  bal- 
cony of  proud  Antiquity,  and  cry  Descend  !  Contend  ! 

I  have  frequently  heard  your  admiration  of  this  passage,  and 
therefore  I  dwell  on  it  the  more  delighted.  Besides,  we  seldom 
find  anything  in  our  progress  that  is  not  apter  to  excite  a  very 
different  sensation.  School-divinity  can  never  be  made  attrac- 
tive to  the  Muses ;  nor  will  Virgil  and  Thomas  Aquinas  ever 
cordially  shake  hands.  The  unrelenting  rancor  against  the 
popes  is  more  tedious  than  unmerited ;  in  a  poem  I  doubt 
whether  we  would  not  rather  find  it  unmerited  than  tedious, 
for  of  all  the  sins  against  the  spirit  of  poetry,  this  is  the  most 
unpardonable.  Something  of  our  indignation,  and  a  proportion 
of  our  scorn,  may  fairly  be  detached  from  the  popes  and  thrown 
on  the  pusillanimous  and  perfidious  who  suffered  such  excres- 
cences to  shoot  up,  exhausting  and  poisoning  the  soil  they 
sprang  from. 

Petrarca.  I  do  not  wonder  they  make  Saint  Peter  "  redden," 
as  we  hear  they  do,  but  I  regret  that  they  make  him  stammer, 

"  Quegli  che  usurpa  in  terra  il  luogo  mio, 
II  luogo  mio,  il  luogo  mio,"  etc. 

Alighieri  was  not  the  first  Catholic  who  taught  us  that  the  pa- 
pacy is  usurpation,  nor  will  he  be  (let  us  earnestly  hope)  the 
last  to  inculcate  so  evident  a  doctrine. 

Boccaccio.  Canonico  of  Parma  !  Canonico  of  Parma  !  you 
make  my  hair  stand  on  end.  But  since  nobody  sees  it  besides 
yourself,  prythee  tell  me  how  it  happens  that  *an  infallible  pope 
should  denounce  as  damnable  the  decision  of  another  infal- 

S 


66  THE    PENTAMERON. 

lible  pope,  his  immediate  predecessor?  Giovanni  the  twenty- 
second,  whom  you  knew  intimately,  taught  us  that  the  souls  of 
the  just  could  not  enjoy  the  sight  of  God  until  after  the  day 
of  universal  judgment ;  but  the  ^doctors  of  theology  at  Paris, 
and  those  learned  and  competent  clerks  the  kings  of  France 
and  Naples,  would  not  allow  him  to  die  before  he  had  swal- 
lowed the  choke- pear  they  could  not  chew.  The  succeeding 
pope,  who  called  himself  an  ass,  —  in  which  infallibility  was  less 
wounded,  and  neither  king  nor  doctor  carped  at  it  (for  not 
only  was  he  one,  but  as  truth-telling  a  beast  as  Balaam's), — 
condemned  this  error,  as  indeed  well  he  might,  after  two  kings 
had  set  their  faces  against  it.  But  on  the  whole,  the  thing  is 
ugly  and  perplexing.  That  they  were  both  infallible  we  know ; 
and  yet  they  differed  !  Nay,  the  former  differed  from  himself, 
and  was  pope  all  the  while,  —  of  course  infallible  !  Well,  since 
we  may  not  solve  the  riddle,  let  us  suppose  it  is  only  a  mystery 
the  more,  and  be  thankful  for  it. 

Petrarca.     That  is  best. 

Boccaccio.  I  never  was  one  of  those  who  wish  for  ice  to 
slide  upon  in  summer.  Being  no  theologian,  I  neither  am  nor 
desire  to  be  sharp-sighted  in  articles  of  heresy ;  but  it  is  re- 
ported that  there  are  among  Christians  some  who  hesitate  to 
worship  the  Virgin. 

Petrarca.     Few,  let  us  hope. 

Boccaccio.  Hard  hearts  !  Imagine  her,  in  her  fifteenth  year, 
fondling  the  lovely  babe  whom  she  was  destined  to  outlive,  — 
destined  to  see  shedding  his  blood  and  bowing  his  head  in 
agony  !  Can  we  ever  pass  her  by  and  not  say  from  our  hearts, 
"O  thou  whose  purity  had  only  the  stain  of  compassionate 
tears  upon  it !  blessings,  blessings  on  thee  !  "  I  never  saw 
her  image  but  it  suspended  my  steps  on  the  highway  of  the 
world,  discoursed  with  me,  softened  and  chastened  me,  show- 
ing me  too  clearly  my  unworthiness  by  the  light  of  a  reproving 
smile. 

Petrarca.  Woe  betide  those  who  cut  off  from  us  any  source 
of  tenderness,  and  shut  out  from  any  of  our  senses  the  access 
to  devotion  ! 

Beatrice,  in  the  place  before  us,  changes  color  too,  as  deeply 
as  ever  she  did  on  earth ;  for  Saint  Peter,  in  his  passion,  picks 
up  and  flourishes  some  very  filthy  words.  He  does  not  recover 


THE    PENTAMERON.  6/ 

the  use  of  his  reason  on  a  sudden ;  but  after  a  long  and  bitter 
complaint  that  faith  and  innocence  are  only  to  be  found  in 
little  children,  and  that  the  child  moreover  who  loves  and 
listens  to  its  mother  while  it  lisps,  wishes  to  see  her  buried 
when  it  can  speak  plainly,  —  he  informs  us  that  this  corruption 
ought  to  excite  no  wonder,  since  the  human  race  must  of  ne- 
cessity go  astray,  not  having  any  one  upon  earth  to  govern  it. 

Boccaccio.  Is  not  this  strange  though,  from  the  mouth  of 
one  inspired  ?  We  are  taught  that  there  never  shall  be  want- 
ing a  head  to  govern  the  Church  ;  could  Saint  Peter  say  that  it 
was  wanting?  I  feel  my  Catholicism  here  touched  to  the  quick. 
However,  I  am  resolved  not  to  doubt ;  the  more  difficulties  I 
find,  the  fewer  questions  I  raise  :  the  saints  must  settle  it,  as 
well  as  they  can,  among  themselves. 

Petrarca.  They  are  nearer  the  fountain  of  truth  than  we 
are  ;  and  I  am  confident  Saint  Paul  was  in  the  right. 

Boccaccio.  I  do  verily  believe  he  may  have  been,  although 
at  Rome  we  might  be  in  jeopardy  for  saying  it.  Well  is  it  for 
me  that  my  engagement  is  to  comment  on  Alighieri's  "  Divina 
Commedia "  instead  of  his  treatise  "  De  Monarchia."  He 
says  bold  things  there,  and  sets  apostles  and  popes  together  by 
the  ears.  That  is  not  the  worst.  He  would  destroy  what  is 
and  should  be,  and  would  establish  what  never  can  nor  ought 
to  be. 

Petrarca.  If  a  universal  monarch  could  make  children 
good  universally,  and  keep  them  as  innocent  when  they  grow 
up  as  when  they  were  in  the  cradle,  we  might  wish  him  upon 
his  throne  to-morrow.  But  Alighieri,  and  those  others  who 
have  conceived  such  a  prodigy,  seem  to  be  unaware  that  what 
they  would  establish  for  the  sake  of  unity  is  the  very  thing  by 
which  this  unity  must  be  demolished.  For  since  universal 
power  does  not  confer  on  its  possessor  universal  intelligence, 
and  since  a  greater  number  of  the  cunning  could  and  would 
assemble  round  him,  he  must  (if  we  suppose  him  like  the  ma- 
jority and  nearly  the  totality  of  his  class)  appoint  a  greater 
proportion  of  such  subjects  to  the  management  and  control  of 
his  dominions.  Many  of  them  would  become  the  rulers  of 
cities  and  of  provinces  in  which  they  have  no  connections  or 
affinities,  and  in  which  the  preservation  of  character  is  less 
desirable  to  them  than  the  possession  of  power.  The  opera- 


68  THE    PENTAMERON. 

tions  of  injustice,  and  the  opportunities  of  improvement  would 
be  alike  concealed  from  the  monarch  in  the  remoter  parts  of 
his  territories,  and  every  man  of  high  station  would  exercise 
more  authority  than  he. 

Boccaccio.  Casting  aside  the  impracticable  scheme  of  uni- 
versal monarchy,  if  kings  and  princes  there  must  be,  even  in 
the  midst  of  civility  and  letters,  why  cannot  they  return  to 
European  customs,  renouncing  those  Asiatic  practices  which 
are  become  enormously  prevalent  ?  Why  cannot  they  be  con- 
tented with  such  power  as  the  kings  of  Rome  and  the  lucu- 
mons  of  Etruria  were  contented  with  ?  But  forsooth  they  are 
wiser !  and  such  customs  are  obsolete  !  Of  their  wisdom  I 
shall  venture  to  say  nothing,  for  nothing,  I  believe,  is  to  be 
said  of  it ;  but  the  customs  are  not  obsolete  in  other  countries, 
—  they  have  taken  deep  root  in  the  north,  and  exhibit  the  signs 
of  vigor  and  vitality.  Unhappily,  the  weakest  men  always 
think  they  least-  want  help,  —  like  the  mad  and  the  drunk. 
Princes  and  geese  are  fond  of  standing  on  one  leg,  and  fancy 
it  (no  doubt)  a  position  of  gracefulness  and  security,  until  the 
cramp  seizes  them  on  a  sudden :  then  they  find  how  helpless 
they  are,  and  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  they  had 
employed  all  the  support  at  their  disposal. 

Petrarca.  When  the  familiars  of  absolute  princes  taunt  us, 
as  they  are  wont  to  do,  with  the  only  apothegm  they  ever 
learned  by  heart,  —  namely,  that  it  is  better  to  be  ruled  by  one 
master  than  by  many,  —  I  quite  agree  with  them,  unity  of  power 
being  the  principle  of  republicanism,  while  the  principle  of 
despotism  is  division  and  delegation.  In  the  one  system 
every  man  conducts  his  own  affairs,  either  personally  or  through 
the  agency  of  some  trustworthy  representative,  which  is  essen- 
tially the  same ;  in  the  other  system  no  man,  in  quality  of 
citizen,  has  any  affairs  of  his  own  to  conduct,  but  a  tutor  has 
been  as  much  set  over  him  as  over  a  lunatic,  as  little  with  his 
option  or  consent,  and  without  any  provision,  as  there  is  in 
the  case  of  the  lunatic,  for  returning  reason.  Meanwhile,  the 
spirit  of  republics  is  omnipresent  in  them,  —  as  active  in  the 
particles  as  in  the  mass,  in  the  circumference  as  in  the  centre. 
Eternal  it  must  be,  as  truth  and  justice  are,  although  not 
stationary.  Yet  when  we  look  on  Venice  and  Genoa,  on  the 
turreted  Pisa  and  our  own  fair  Florence,  and  many  smaller 


THE    PENTAMERON.  69 

cities  self- poised  in  high  serenity ;  when  we  see  what  edifices 
they  have  raised,  and  then  glance  at  the  wretched  habitations 
of  the  slaves  around,  —  the  Austrians,  the  French,  and  other 
fierce  restless  barbarians,  —  difficult  is  it  to  believe  that  the 
beneficent  God,  who  smiled  upon  these  our  labors,  will  ever 
in  his  indignation  cast  them  down,  a  helpless  prey  to  such 
invaders. 

Morals  and  happiness  will  always  be  nearest  to  perfection 
in  small  communities,  where  functionaries  are  appointed  by  as 
numerous  a  body  as  can  be  brought  together  of  the  industrious 
and  intelligent,  who  have  observed  in  what  manner  they  su- 
perintend their  families  and  converse  with  their  equals  and 
dependants.  Do  we  find  that  farms  are  better  cultivated  for 
being  large  ?  Is  your  neighbor  friendlier  for  being  powerful  ? 
Is  your  steward  honester  and  more  attentive  for  having  a  mort- 
gage on  your  estate,  or  a  claim  to  a  joint  property  in  your  man- 
sion? Yet  well-educated  men  are  seen  about  the  streets  so 
vacant  and  delirious  as  to  fancy  that  a  country  can  only  be 
well  governed  by  somebody  who  never  saw  and  will  never  see 
a  twentieth  part  of  it,  or  know  a  hundredth  part  of  its  neces- 
sities, —  somebody  who  has  no  relationships  in  it,  no  connec- 
tions, no  remembrances.  A  man  without  soul  and  sympathy 
is  alone  to  be  the  governor  of  men  !  Giovanni,  our  Floren- 
tines are,  beyond  all  others,  a  treacherous,  tricking,  mercenary 
race.  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  will  become  of  them,  if 
ever  they  listen  to  these  ravings ;  if  ever  they  lose,  by  their 
cowardice  and  dissensions  (the  crust  of  salt  that  keeps  them 
from  putrescency) ,  their  freedom? 

Boccaccio.  Alas  !  I  dare  hardly  look  out  sometimes,  lest  I 
see  before  me  the  day  when  German  and  Spaniard  will  split 
them  down  the  back  and  throw  them  upon  the  coals.  Sad 
thought !  here  we  will  have  done  with  it.  We  cannot  help 
them  :  we  have  made  the  most  of  them,  like  the  good  tailor 
who,  as  Dante  says,  cut  his  coat  according  to  his  cloth. 

Petrarca.  Do  you  intend,  if  they  should  call  upon  you 
again,  to  give  them  occasionally  some  of  your  strictures  on 
his  prose-writings? 

Boccaccio.  It  would  not  be  expedient.  Enough  of  his 
political  sentiments  is  exhibited  in  various  places  of  his  poem, 
to  render  him  unacceptable  to  one  party,  and  enough  of  his 


7O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

theological,  or  rather  his  ecclesiastical,  to  frighten  both.  You 
and  I  were  never  passionately  fond  of  the  papacy,  to  which  we 
trace  in  great  measure  the  miseries  of  our  Italy,  its  divisions 
and  its  corruptions,  the  substitution  of  cunning  for  fortitude, 
and  of  creed  for  conduct.  Dante  burst  into  indignation  at  the 
sight  of  this,  and  because  the  popes  took  away  our  Chris- 
tianity, he  was  so  angry  he  would  throw  our  freedom  after  it. 
Any  thorn  in  the  way  is  fit  enough  to  toss  the  tattered  rag  on. 
A  German  king  will  do,  —  Austrian  or  Bavarian,  Swabian  or 
Switzer.  And  to  humiliate  us  more  and  more,  and  render  us 
the  laughing-stock  of  our  household,  he  would  invest  the  in- 
truder with  the  title  of  Roman  Emperor.  What !  it  is  not 
enough  then  that  he  assumes  it?  We  must  invite  him,  for- 
sooth, to  accept  it  at  our  hands  ! 

Petrarca.  Let  the  other  nations  of  Europe  be  governed  by 
their  hereditary  kings  and  feudal  princes,  —  it  is  more  accord- 
ant with  those  ancient  habits  which  have  not  yet  given  way  to 
the  blandishment  of  literature  and  the  pacific  triumph  of  the 
arts  ;  but  let  the  states  of  Italy  be  guided  by  their  own  citizens. 
May  nations  find  out  by  degrees  that  the  next  evil  to  being 
conquered  is  to  conquer,  and  that  he  who  assists  in  making 
slaves  gives  over  at  last  by  becoming  one. 

Boccaccio.  Let  us  endure  a  French  pope  or  any  other  as 
well  as  we  can ;  there  is  no  novelty  in  his  being  a  stranger. 
The  Romans  at  all  times  picked  up  recruits  from  the  thieves, 
gods,  and  priests  of  all  nations.  Dante  is  wrong,  I  suspect,  in 
imagining  the  popes  to  be  infidels ;  and,  no  doubt,  they  would 
pay  for  Indulgences  as  honestly  as  they  sell  them,  if  there  were 
anybody  at  hand  to  receive  the  money.  But  who  in  the  world 
ever  thought  of  buying  the  cap  he  was  wearing  on  his  own 
head  ?  Popes  are  no  such  triflers.  After  all,  an  infidel  pope 
(and  I  do  not  believe  there  are  three  in  a  dozen)  is  less 
noxious  than  a  sanguinary  soldier,  be  his  appellation  what 
it  may,  if  his  power  is  only  limited  by  his  will.  My  experience 
has  however  taught  me  that  where  there  is  a  great  mass  of 
power  concentrated,  it  will  always  act  with  great  influence  on 
the  secondary  around  it.  Whether  pope  or  emperor  or  native 
king  occupy  the  most  authority  within  the  Alps,  the  barons 
will  range  themselves  under  his  banner,  apart  from  the  citizens. 
Venice,  who  appears  to  have  received  by  succession  the  politi- 


THE    PENTAMERON.  Jl 

cal  wisdom  of  republican  Rome,  has  less  political  enterprise ; 
and  the  jealousies  of  her  rivals  will  always  hold  them  back,  or 
greatly  check  them,  from  any  plan  suggested  by  her  for  the 
general  good. 

Petrarca.  It  appears  to  be  the  will  of  Providence  that 
power  and  happiness  shall  never  co-exist.  Whenever  a  state 
becomes  powerful,  it  becomes  unjust ;  and  injustice  leads  it 
first  to  the  ruin  of  others,  and  next  and  speedily  to  its  own. 
We  whose  hearts  are  republican  are  dazzled  by  looking  so  long 
and  so  intently  at  the  eagles  and  standards  and  golden  letters, 
"S.  P.  Q.  R."  We  are  reluctant  to  admit  that  the  most 
wretched  days  of  ancient  Rome  were  the  days  of  her  most 
illustrious  men ;  that  they  began  amid  the  triumphs  of  Scipio, 
when  the  Gracchi  perished,  and  reached  the  worst  under  the 
dictatorship  of  Caesar,  when  perished  Liberty  herself.  A  milder 
and  better  race  was  gradually  formed  by  Grecian  instruction. 
Vespasian,  Titus,  Nerva,  Trajan,  the  Antonines,  the  Gordians, 
Tacitus,  Probus,  in  an  almost  unbroken  series,  are  such  men 
as  never  wore  the  diadem  in  other  countries ;  and  Rome  can 
show  nothing  comparable  to  them  in  the  most  renowned  and 
virtuous  of  her  earlier  consuls.  Humanity  would  be  consoled 
in  some  degree  by  them  if  their  example  had  sunk  into  the 
breasts  of  the  governed.  But  ferocity  is  unsoftened  by  sen- 
suality ;  and  the  milk  of  the  wolf  could  always  be  traced  in  the 
veins  of  the  effeminated  Romans. 

Petrarca.  That  is  true  ;  and  they  continue  to  this  day  less 
humane  than  any  other  people  of  Italy.  The  better  part  of 
their  character  has  fallen  off  from  them ;  and  in  courage  and 
perseverance  they  are  far  behind  the  Venetians  and  Ligurians. 
These  last,  a  scanty  population,  were  hardly  to  be  conquered 
by  Rome  in  the  plenitude  of  her  power,  and  with  all  her  con- 
federates, —  for  which  reason  they  were  hated  by  her  beyond 
all  other  nations.  To  gratify  the  pride  and  malice  of  Augustus, 
were  written  the  verses  — 

"  Vane  Ligur  !  frustraque  animis  elate  superbis, 
Nequicquam  patrias  tentasti  lubricus  artes." 

Since  that  time  the  inhabitants  of  Genoa  and  Venice  have 
been  enriched  with  the  generous  blood  of  the  Lombards.  This 
little  tribe  on  the  Subalpine  territory,  and  the  Norman  on  the 


/2  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Apulian,  demonstrate  to  us,  by  the  rapidity  and  extension  of 
their  conquests,  that  Italy  is  an  over-ripe  fruit,  ready  to  drop 
from  the  stalk  under  the  feet  of  the  first  insect  that  alights 
on  it. 

Boccaccio.  The  Germans,  although  as  ignorant  as  are  the 
French,  are  less  cruel,  less  insolent,  and  less  rapacious.  The 
French  have  a  separate  claw  for  every  object  of  appetite  or 
passion,  and  a  spring  that  enables  them  to  seize  it.  The  de- 
sires of  the  German  are  overlaid  with  food  and  extinguished 
with  drink,  which  to  others  are  stimulants  and  incentives.  The 
German  loves  to  see  everything  about  him  orderly  and  entire, 
however  coarse  and  common  :  the  nature  of  the  Frenchman  is 
to  derange  and  destroy  everything.  Sometimes  when  he  has 
done  so,  he  will  reconstruct  and  refit  it  in  his  own  manner,  slen- 
derly and  fantastically ;  oftener  leaving  it  in  the  middle,  and 
proposing  to  lay  the  foundation  when  he  has  pointed  the  pin- 
nacles and  gilded  the  weathercock. 

Petrarca.  There  is  no  danger  that  the  French  will  have  a 
durable  footing  in  this  or  any  other  country.  Their  levity  is 
more  intolerable  than  German  pressure,  their  arrogance  than 
German  pride,  their  falsehood  than  German  rudeness,  and  their 
vexations  than  German  exaction. 

Boccaccio.  If  I  must  be  devoured,  I  have  little  choice 
between  the  bear  and  the  panther.  May  we  always  see  the 
creatures  at  a  distance  and  across  the  grating  !  The  French 
will  fondle  us,  to  show  us  how  vastly  it  is  our  interest  to  fondle 
them,  —  watching  all  the  while  their  opportunity,  looking  mild 
and  half-asleep,  making  a  dash  at  last,  and  laying  bare  and 
fleshless  the  arm  we  extend  to  them,  from  shoulder-blade  to 
wrist. 

Petrarca.  No  nation  grasping  at  so  much  ever  held  so  little, 
or  lost  so  soon  what  it  had  inveigled.  Yet  France  is  surrounded 
by  smaller  and  by  apparently  weaker  states,  which  she  never 
ceases  to  molest  and  invade.  Whatever  she  has  won  and  what- 
ever she  has  lost,  has  been  alike  won  and  lost  by  her  perfidy, — 
the  characteristic  of  the  people  from  the  earliest  ages,  and  re- 
corded by  a  succession  of  historians,  Greek  and  Roman. 

Boccaccio.  My  father  spent  many  years  among  them,  where 
also  my  education  was  completed  ;  yet  whatever  I  have  seen, 
I  must  acknowledge,  corresponds  with  whatever  I  have  read, 


THE    PENTAMERON.  73 

and  corroborates  in  my  mind  the  testimony  of  tradition.  Their 
ancient  history  is  only  a  preface  to  their  later.  Deplorable  as 
is  the  condition  of  Italy,  I  am  more  contented  to  share  in  her 
sufferings  than  in  the  frothy  festivities  of  her  frisky  neighbor. 

Petrarca.  So  am  I ;  but  we  must  never  deny  or  dissemble 
the  victories  of  the  ancient  Gauls,  many  traces  of  which  are  re- 
maining, —  not  that  a  nation's  glory  is  the  greener  for  the  Cashes 
it  has  scattered  in  the  season  of  its  barbarism. 

Boccaccio.  The  Cisalpine  regions  were  indeed  both  invaded 
and  occupied  by  them ;  yet  from  inability  to  retain  the  ac- 
quisition, how  inconsiderable  a  part  of  the  population  is 
Gaulish  !  Long  before  the  time  of  Caesar  the  language  was 
Latin  throughout :  the  soldiers  of  Marius  swept  away  the  last 
dregs  and  stains  on  the  ancient  hearth.  Nor  is  there  in  the 
physiognomy  of  the  people  the  slightest  indication  of  the  Gaul, 
as  we  perceive  by  medals  and  marbles.  These  would  surely 
preserve  his  features,  because  they  can  only  be  the  memorials 
of  the  higher  orders,  which  of  course  would  have  descended 
from  the  conquerors.  They  merged  early  and  totally  in  the 
original  mass,  and  the  countenances  in  Cisalpine  busts  are  as 
beautiful  and  dignified  as  our  other  Italian  races. 

Petrarca.     The  French  imagine  theirs  are  too. 

Boccaccio.  I  heartily  wish  them  the  full  enjoyment  of  their 
blessings,  real  or  imaginary ;  but  neither  their  manners  nor 
their  principles  coincide  with  ours,  nor  can  a  reasonable  hope 
be  entertained  of  benefit  in  their  alliance.  Union  at  home 
is  all  we  want,  and  vigilance  to  perpetuate  the  better  of  our 
institutions. 

Petrarca.  The  land,  O  Giovanni,  of  your  early  youth,  the 
land  of  my  only  love,  fascinates  us  no  longer.  Italy  is  our 
country ;  and  not  ours  only,  but  every  man's,  wherever  may 
have  been  his  wanderings,  wherever  may  have  been  his  birth, 
who  watches  with  anxiety  the  recovery  of  the  Arts,  and  ac- 
knowledges the  supremacy  of  Genius.  Besides,  it  is  in  Italy  at 
last  that  all  our  few  friends  are  resident.  Yours  were  left  behind 
you  at  Paris  in  your  adolescence,  if  indeed  any  friendship  can 
exist  between  a  Florentine  and  a  Frenchman  ;  mine  at  Avignon 
were  Italians,  and  older  for  the  most  part  than  myself.  Here 
we  know  that  we  are  beloved  by  some,  and  esteemed  by  many. 
It  indeed  gave  me  pleasure,  the  first  morning  as  I  lay  in  bed, 


74  THE    PENTAMERON. 

to  overhear  the  fondness  and  earnestness  which  a  worthy  priest 
was  expressing  in  your  behalf. 

Boccaccio.     In  mine? 

Petrarca.     Yes,  indeed  :  what  wonder? 

Boccaccio.     A  worthy  priest  ? 

Petrarca.     None  else,  certainly. 

Boccaccio.     Heard  in  bed  !  dreaming,  dreaming  —  ay  ? 

Petrarca.     No,  indeed  :  my  eyes  and  ears  were  wide  open. 

Boccaccio.  The  little  parlor  opens  into  your  room.  But 
what  priest  could  that  be  ?  Canonico  Casini  ?  He  only  comes 
when  we  have  a  roast  of  thrushes,  or  some  such  small  matter  at 
table  ;  and  this  is  not  the  season,  —  they  are  pairing.  Plover 
eggs  might  tempt  him  hitherward.  If  he  heard  a  plover  he 
would  not  be  easy,  and  would  fain  make  her  drop  her  oblation 
before  she  had  settled  her  nest. 

Petrarca.  It  is  right  and  proper  that  you  should  be  in- 
formed who  the  clergyman  was  to  whom  you  are  under  an 
obligation. 

Boccaccio.  Tell  me  something  about  it,  for  truly  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  conjecture. 

Petrarca.  He  must  unquestionably  have  been  expressing 
a  kind  and  ardent  solicitude  for  your  eternal  welfare.  The 
first  words  I  heard  on  awakening  were  these  :  "  Ser  Giovanni, 
although  the  best  of  masters — " 

Boccaccio.     Those  were  Assuntina's. 

Petrarca.  — "  may  hardly  be  quite  so  holy  (not  being 
priest  or  friar)  as  your  reverence." 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  question,  "What  conversation 
holdeth  he?" 

She  answered :  "  He  never  talks  of  loving  our  neighbor 
with  all  our  heart,  all  our  soul,  and  all  our  strength,  although 
he  often  gives  away  the  last  loaf  in  the  pantry." 

Boccaccio.  It  was  she  !  Why  did  she  say  that  ?  —  the 
slut! 

Petrarca.  "  He  doth  well,"  replied  the  confessor.  "  Of 
the  Church,  of  the  brotherhood,  that  is,  of  me,  what  discourses 
holdeth  he?" 

I  thought  the  question  an  indiscreet  one ;  but  confessors 
vary  in  their  advances  to  the  seat  of  truth. 

She  proceeded  to  answer :  "He  never  said  anything  about 


THE    PENTAMERON.  75 

the  power  of  the  Church  to  absolve  us,  if  we  should  happen 
to  go  astray  a  little  in  good  company,  like  your  reverence." 

Here,  it  is  easy  to  perceive,  is  some  slight  ambiguity. 
Evidently  she  meant  to  say,  by  the  seduction  of  "  bad  "  com- 
pany, and  to  express  that  his  reverence  had  asserted  his  power 
of  absolution  ;  which  is  undeniable. 

Boccaccio.     I  have  my  version. 

Petrarca.     What  may  yours  be  ? 

Boccaccio.  Frate  Biagio !  broad  as  daylight !  the  whole 
frock  round  ! 

I  would  wager  a  flask  of  oil  against  a  turnip,  that  he  laid 
another  trap  for  a  penance.  Let  us  see  how  he  went  on.  I 
warrant,  as  he  warmed,  he  left  off  limping  in  his  paces,  and 
bore  hard  upon  the  bridle. 

Petrarca.  "  Much  do  I  fear,"  continued  the  expositor,  "  he 
never  spoke  to  thee,  child,  about  another  world." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  continuance. 

"  Speak  !  "  said  the  confessor. 

"  No,  indeed,  he  never  did,  poor  Padrone  !  "  was  the  slow 
and  evidently  reluctant  avowal  of  the  maiden ;  for  in  the  midst 
of  the  acknowledgment  her  sighs  came  through  the  crevices 
of  the  door ;  then,  without  any  further  interrogation,  and 
with  little  delay,  she  added,  "  But  he  often  makes  this  look 
like  it." 

Boccaccio.  And  now,  if  he  had  carried  a  holy  scourge,  it 
would  not  have  been  on  his  shoulders  that  he  would  have 
laid  it. 

Petrarca.  Zeal  carries  men  often  too  far  afloat ;  and  con- 
fessors in  general  wish  to  have  the  sole  steerage  of  the  con- 
science. When  she  told  him  that  your  benignity  made  this 
world  another  heaven,  he  warmly  and  sharply  answered,  "  It  is 
only  we  who  ought  to  do  that." 

"  Hush,"  said  the  maiden ;  and  I  verily  believe  she  at  that 
moment  set  her  back  against  the  door,  to  prevent  the  sounds 
from  coming  through  the  crevices,  for  the  rest  of  them  seemed 
to  be  just  over  my  night-cap.  "  Hush,"  said  she,  in  the  whole 
length  of  that  softest  of  all  articulations,  "  there  is  Ser  Fran- 
cesco in  the  next  room ;  he  sleeps  long  into  the  morning,  but 
he  is  so  clever  a  clerk  he  may  understand  you  just  the  same. 
I  doubt  whether  he  thinks  Ser  Giovanni  in  the  wrong  for 


76  THE    PENTAMERON. 

making  so  many  people  quite  happy;  and  if  he  should,  it 
would  grieve  me  very  much  to  think  he  blamed  Ser  Giovanni." 

"Who  is  Ser  Francesco?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ser  Canonico,"  she  answered. 

"  Of  what  Duomo?  "  continued  he. 

"  Who  knows?  "  was  the  reply ;  "  but  he  is  Padrone's  heart's 
friend,  for  certain." 

"  Cospetto  di  Bacco  !  It  can  then  be  no  other  than  Pe- 
trarca.  He  makes  rhymes  and  love  like  the  devil.  Don't 
listen  to  him,  or  you  are  undone.  Does  he  love  you  too,  as 
well  as  Padrone?"  he  asked,  still  lowering  his  voice. 

"  I  cannot  tell  that  matter,"  she  answered  somewhat  im- 
patiently; "but  I  love  him." 

"  To  my  face  !  "  cried  he,  smartly. 

"To  the  Santissima  ! "  replied  she,  instantaneously;  "for 
have  not  I  told  your  reverence  he  is  Padrone's  true  heart's 
friend  !  And  are  not  you  my  confessor,  when  you  come  on 
purpose?" 

"  True,  true  !  "  answered  he ;  "  but  there  are  occasions 
when  we  are  shocked  by  the  confession,  and  wish  it  made  less 
daringly." 

"  I  was  bold ;  but  who  can  help  loving  him  who  loves  my 
good  Padrone?"  said  she,  much  more  submissively. 

Boccaccio.     Brave  girl,  for  that ! 

Dog  of  a  Frate  !  They  are  all  of  a  kidney,  all  of  a  kennel. 
I  would  dilute  their  meal  well,  and  keep  them  low.  They  should 
not  waddle  and  wallop  in  every  hollow  lane,  nor  loll  out  their 
watery  tongues  at  every  wash-pool  in  the  parish.  We  shall  hear, 
I  trust,  no  more  about  Fra  Biagio  in  the  house  while  you  are 
with  us.  Ah,  were  it  then  for  life  ! 

Petrarca.  The  man's  prudence  may  be  reasonably  doubted, 
but  it  were  uncharitable  to  question  his  sincerity.  Could  a 
neighbor,  a  religious  one  in  particular,  be  indifferent  to  the  wel- 
fare of  Boccaccio,  or  any  belonging  to  him  ? 

Boccaccio.  I  do  not  complain  of  his  indifference.  In- 
different !  no,  not  he.  He  might  as  well  be,  though.  My 
Villetta  here  is  my  castle  :  it  was  my  father's ;  it  was  his  father's. 
Cowls  did  not  hang  to  dry  upon  the  same  cord  with  caps  in 
their  podere  ;  they  shall  not  in  mine.  The  girl  is  an  honest  girl, 
Francesco,  though  I  say  it.  Neither  she  nor  any  other  shall  be 


THE   PENTAMERON.  77 

befooled  and  bamboozled  under  my  roof.  Methinks  Holy 
Church  might  contrive  some  improvement  upon  confession. 

Petrarca.  Hush,  Giovanni !  But,  it  being  a  matter  of  dis- 
cipline, who  knows  but  she  might. 

Boccaccio.  Discipline  !  ay,  ay,  ay  !  faith  and  troth,  there 
are  some  who  want  it. 

Petrarca.     You  really  terrify  me.     These  are  sad  surmises. 

Boccaccio.  Sad  enough  !  but  I  am  keeper  of  my  hand- 
maiden's probity. 

Petrarca.     It  could  not  be  kept  safer. 

Boccaccio.  I  wonder  what  the  Frate  would  be  putting  into 
her  head. 

Petrarca.     Nothing,  nothing  ;  be  assured. 

Boccaccio.     Why  did  he  ask  her  all  those  questions  ? 

Petrarca.  Confessors  do  occasionally  take  circuitous  ways  to 
arrive  at  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart. 

Boccaccio.  And  sometimes  they  drive  at  it,  methinks,  a  whit 
too  directly.  He  had  no  business  to  make  remarks  about  me. 

Petrarca.     Anxiety. 

Boccaccio.  'Fore  God,  Francesco,  he  shall  have  more  of  that ; 
for  I  will  shut  him  out  the  moment  I  am  again  up  and  stirring, 
though  he  stand  but  a  nose's  length  off.  I  have  no  fear  about 
the  girl,  no  suspicion  of  her.  He  might  whistle  to  the  moon  on 
a  frosty  night,  and  expect  as  reasonably  her  descending.  Never 
was  a  man  so  entirely  at  his  ease  as  I  am  about  that ;  never, 
never  !  She  is  adamant ;  a  bright  sword  now  first  unscabbarded, 
—  no  breath  can  hang  about  it.  A  seal  of  beryl,  of  chrysolite, 
of  ruby,  —  to  make  impressions  (all  in  good  time  and  proper 
place  though)  and  receive  none  ;  incapable,  just  as  they  are,  of 
splitting  or  cracking  or  flawing  or  harboring  dirt.  Let  him 
mind  that!  Such,  I  assure  you,  is  that  poor  little  wench, 
Assuntina. 

Petrarca.  I  am  convinced  that  so  well-behaved  a  young 
creature  as  Assunta  — 

Boccaccio.  Right !  Assunta  is  her  name  by  baptism  :  we 
usually  call  her  Assuntina,  because  she  is  slender,  and  scarcely 
yet  full-grown,  perhaps  :  but  who  can  tell  ? 

As  for  those  friars,  I  never  was  a  friend  to  impudence  ;  I  hate 
loose  suggestions.  In  girls'  minds  you  will  find  little  dust  but 
what  is  carried  there  by  gusts  from  without.  They  seldom  want 


78  THE    PENTAMERON. 

sweeping ;  when  they  do,  the  broom  should  be  taken  from  be- 
hind the  house-door,  and  the  master  should  be  the  sacristan. 

—  Scarcely  were  these  words  uttered  when  Assunta  was  heard 
running  up  the  stairs  ;  and  the  next  moment  she  rapped.  Being 
ordered  to  come  in,  she  entered  with  a  willow  twig  in  her  hand, 
from  the  middle  of  which  willow  twig  (for  she  held  the  two  ends 
together)  hung  a  fish,  shining  with  green  and  gold. 

"What  hast  there,  young  maiden?  "  said  Ser  Francesco. 

"A  fish,  Riverenza  !  "  answered  she.  "  In  Tuscany  we  call 
it  tinea" 

Petrarca.     I  too  am  a  little  of  a  Tuscan. 

Assunta.  Indeed  !  well,  you  really  speak  very  like  one,  but 
only  more  sweetly  and  slowly.  I  wonder  how  you  can  keep  up 
with  Signor  Padrone,  —  he  talks  fast  when  he  is  in  health  ;  and 
you  have  made  him  so.  Why  did  not  you  come  before  ?  Your 
reverence  has  surely  been  at  Certaldo  in  time  past? 

Petrarca.     Yes,  before  thou  wert  born. 

Assunta.     Ah,  sir  !  it  must  have  been  long  ago  then. 

Petrarca.     Thou  hast  just  entered  upon  life. 

Assunta.     I  am  no  child. 

Petrarca.     What  then  art  thou? 

Assunta.  I  know  not ;  I  have  lost  both  father  and  mother  : 
there  is  a  name  for  such  as  I  am. 

Petrarca.     And  a  place  in  heaven. 

Boccaccio.  Who  brought  us  that  fish,  Assunta?  Hast  paid 
for  it  ?  There  must  be  seven  pounds  ;  I  never  saw  the  like. 

Assunta.  I  could  hardly  lift  up  my  apron  to  my  eyes  with 
it  in  my  hand.  Luca,  who  brought  it  all  the  way  from  the 
Padule,  could  scarcely  be  entreated  to  eat  a  morsel  of  bread, 
or  to  sit  down. 

Boccaccio.  Give  him  a  flask  or  two  of  our  wine ;  he  will 
like  it  better  than  the  sour  puddle  of  the  plain. 

Assunta.     He  is  gone  back. 

Boccaccio.     Gone  !  who  is  he,  pray? 

Assunta.     Luca,  to  be  sure. 

Boccaccio.     What  Luca? 

Assunta.  Dominedio  !  O  Riverenza,  how  sadly  must  Ser 
Giovanni,  my  poor  Padrone,  have  lost  his  memory  in  this  cruel 
long  illness  !  He  cannot  recollect  young  Luca  of  the  Bientola, 
who  married  Maria. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  79 

Boccaccio.  I  never  heard  of  either,  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge. 

Assunta.  Be  pleased  to  mention  this  in  your  prayers  to- 
night, Ser  Canonico  !  May  Our  Lady  soon  give  him  back 
his  memory !  and  everything  else  she  has  been  pleased 
(only  in  play,  I  hope)  to  take  away  from  him  !  Ser  Fran- 
cesco, you  must  have  heard  all  over  the  world  how  Maria 
Gargarelli,  who  lived  in  the  service  of  our  paroco,  somehow 
was  outwitted  by  Satanasso.  Monsignore  thought  the  paroco 
had  not  done  all  he  might  have  done  against  his  wiles 
and  craftiness,  and  sent  his  reverence  over  to  the  monas- 
tery in  the  mountains,  —  Laverna  yonder,  —  to  make  him  look 
sharp ;  and  there  he  is  yet.  And  now  does  Signer  Padrone 
recollect  ? 

Boccaccio.     Rather  more  distinctly. 

Assunta.  Ah,  me  !  Rather  more  distinctly  !  have  patience, 
Signor  Padrone  !  I  am  too  venturous,  God  help  me  !  But, 
Riverenza,  when  Maria  was  the  scorn  or  the  abhorrence  of 
everybody  else,  excepting  poor  Luca  Sabbatini,  who  had  always 
cherished  her,  and  excepting  Signor  Padrone,  who  had  never 
seen  her  in  his  lifetime,  —  for  Paroco  Snello  said  he  desired  no 
visits  from  any  who  took  liberties  with  Holy  Church  (as  if 
Padrone  did  !), —  Luca  one  day  came  to  me  out  of  breath,  with 
money  in  his  hand  for  our  duck.  Now  it  so  happened  that  the 
duck,  stuffed  with  noble  chestnuts,  was  going  to  table  at  that 
instant.  I  told  Signor  Padrone. 

Boccaccio.  Assunta,  I  never  heard  thee  repeat  so  long  and 
tiresome  a  story  before,  nor  put  thyself  out  of  breath  so.  Come, 
we  have  had  enough  of  it. 

Petrarca.     She  is  mortified  ;  pray  let  her  proceed. 

Boccaccio.     As  you  will. 

Assunta.  I  told  Signor  Padrone  how  Luca  was  lamenting 
that  Maria  was  seized  with  an  imagination. 

Petrarca.  No  wonder  then  she  fell  into  misfortune,  and  her 
neighbors  and  friends  avoided  her. 

Assunta.  Riverenza,  how  can  you  smile?  Signor  Padrone, 
and  you,  too?  You  shook  your  head  and  sighed  at  it  when 
it  happened.  The  Demonio,  who  had  caused  all  the  first 
mischief,  was  not  contented  until  he  had  given  her  the 
imagination. 


8O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Petrarca.  He  could  not  have  finished  his  work  more 
effectually. 

Assunta.  He  was  balked,  however.  Luca  said,  "  She  shall 
not  die  under  her  wrongs,  please  God  !  "  I  repeated  the 
words  to  Signer  Padrone  (he  seems  to  listen,  Riverenza,  and 
will  remember  presently) ,  and  Signer  Padrone  cut  away  one 
leg  for  himself,  clean  forgetting  all  the  chestnuts  inside,  and 
said  sharply,  "  Give  the  bird  to  Luca ;  and,  hark  ye,  bring 
back  the  minestra." 

Maria  loved  Luca  with  all  her  heart,  and  Luca  loved  Maria 
with  all  his ;  but  they  both  hated  Paroco  Snello  for  such  ne- 
glect about  the  evil  one.  And  even  Monsignore,  who  sent  for 
Luca  on  purpose,  had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  him  to  for- 
bear from  choler  and  discourse ;  for  Luca,  who  never  swears, 
swore  bitterly  that  the  Devil  should  play  no  such  tricks  again, 
nor  alight  on  girls  napping  in  the  parsonage.  Monsignore 
thought  he  intended  to  take  violent  possession,  and  to  keep 
watch  there  himself  without  consent  of  the  incumbent.  "  I 
will  have  no  scandal,"  said  Monsignore ;  so  there  was  none. 
Maria,  though  she  did  indeed,  as  I  told  your  reverence,  love 
her  Luca  dearly,  yet  she  long  refused  to  marry  him,  and  cried 
very  much  at  last  on  the  wedding-day,  and  said,  as  she  entered 
the  porch,  "  Luca,  it  is  not  yet  too  late  to  leave  me." 

He  would  have  kissed  her,  but  her  face  was  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Pievano  Locatelli  married  them,  and  gave  them  his  blessing ; 
and  going  down  from  the  altar  he  said  before  the  people,  as 
he  stood  on  the  last  step,  "  Be  comforted,  child  !  be  com- 
forted !  God  above  knows  that  thy  husband  is  honest,  and 
that  thou  art  innocent."  Pievano's  voice  trembled,  for  he  was 
an  aged  and  holy  man,  and  had  walked  two  miles  on  the  occa- 
sion. Pulcheria,  his  governante,  eighty  years  old,  carried  an 
apronful  of  lilies  to  bestrew  the  altar;  and  partly  from  the 
lilies,  and  partly  from  the  blessed  angels,  who  although  invisi- 
ble were  present,  the  church  was  filled  with  fragrance.  Many 
who  heretofore  had  been  frightened  at  hearing  the  mention  of 
Maria's  name,  ventured  now  to  walk  up  toward  her ;  and  some 
gave  her  needles,  and  some  offered  skeins  of  thread,  and  some 
ran  home  again  for  pots  of  honey. 

Boccaccio.     And  why  didst  not  thou  take  her  some  trifle  ? 


THE   PENTAMERON.  8 I 

Assunta.     I  had  none. 

Boccaccio.     Surely  there  are  always  such  about  the  premises. 

Assunta.     Not  mine  to  give  away. 

Boccaccio.  So  then  at  thy  hands,  Assunta,  she  went  off  not 
overladen  !  Ne'er  a  bone-bodkin  out  of  thy  bravery,  ay? 

Assunta.     I  ran  out  knitting,  with  the  woodbine  and  syringa 
in  the  basket  for  the  parlor.     I  made  the  basket  —  I  and  — 
but  myself  chiefly,  for  boys  are  loiterers. 

Boccaccio.  Well,  well,  —  why  not  bestow  the  basket,  together 
with  its  rich  contents? 

Assunta.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it  —  I  covered  my  half- 
stocking  with  them  as  quickly  as  I  could,  and  ran  after  her 
and  presented  it.  Not  knowing  what  was  under  the  flowers, 
and  never  minding  the  liberty  I  had  taken  being  a  stranger  to 
her,  she  accepted  it  as  graciously  as  possible,  and  bade  me  be 
happy. 

Petrarca.     I  hope  you  have  always  kept  her  command. 

Assunta.  Nobody  is  ever  unhappy  here  excepting  Fra  Bia- 
gio,  who  frets  sometimes ;  but  that  may  be  the  walk,  or  he 
may  fancy  Ser  Giovanni  to  be  worse  than  he  really  is. 

—  Having  now  performed  her  mission  and  concluded  her 
narrative,  she  bowed  and  said,  "  Excuse  me,  Riverenza  !  ex- 
cuse me,  Signor  Padrone  !  my  arm  aches  with  this  great  fish." 
Then  bowing  again,  and  moving  her  eyes  modestly  toward 
each,  she  added,  "  with  permission  !  "  and  left  the  chamber. 

"About  the  Sposina,"  after  a  pause,  began  Ser  Francesco, 
"  about  the  Sposina,  —  I  do  not  see  the  matter  clearly." 

"  You  have  studied  too  much  to  see  all  things  clearly," 
answered  Ser  Giovanni ;  "  you  see  only  the  greatest.  In  fine, 
the  Devil,  on  this  count,  is  acquitted  by  acclamation ;  and  the 
Paroco  Snello  eats  lettuce  and  chiccory  up  yonder  at  Laverna. 
He  has  mendicant  friars  for  his  society  every  day,  and  snails, 
as  pure  as  water  can  wash  and  boil  them,  for  his  repast  on 
festivals.  Under  this  discipline,  if  they  keep  it  up,  surely  one 
devil  out  of  legion  will  depart  from  him." 


6 


82  THE    PENTAMERON. 


FOURTH   DAY'S   INTERVIEW. 

Petrarca.  Do  not  throw  aside  your  "  Paradise "  for  me. 
Have  you  been  reading  it  again  so  early? 

Boccaccio.  Looking  into  it  here  and  there.  I  had  spare 
time  before  me. 

Petrarca.  You  have  coasted  the  whole  poem,  and  your 
boat's  bottom  now  touches  ground.  But  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  Beatrice. 

Boccaccio.  I  think  her  in  general  more  of  the  seraphic 
doctor  than  of  the  seraph.  It  is  well  she  retained  her  beauty 
where  she  was,  or  she  would  scarcely  be  tolerable  now  and 
then.  And  yet,  in  other  parts,  we  forget  the  captiousness  in 
which  Theology  takes  delight,  and  feel  our  bosoms  refreshed 
by  the  perfect  presence  of  the  youthful  and  innocent  Bice. 

There  is  something  so  sweetly  sanctifying  in  pure  love  ! 

Petrarca. 

"  Pure  love  ?  there  is  no  other,  nor  shall  be, 
Till  the  worse  angels  hurl  the  better  down, 
And  heaven  lie  under  hell ;  if  God  is  one 
And  pure,  so  surely  love  is  pure  and  one." 

Boccaccio.  You  understand  it  better  than  I  do :  you  must 
have  your  own  way. 

Above  all,  I  have  been  admiring  the  melody  of  the  cadence 
in  this  portion  of  the  "  Divina  Commedia."  Some  of  the  stan- 
zas leave  us  nothing  to  desire  in  facility  and  elegance.  Alighieri 
grows  harmonious  as  he  grows  humane,  and  does  not,  like  Or- 
pheus, play  the  better  with  the  beasts  about  him. 

Petrarca.  It  is  in  paradise  that  we  might  expect  his  tones 
to  be  tried  and  modulated. 

Boccaccio.  None  of  the  imitative  arts  should  repose  on 
writhings  and  distortions.  Tragedy  herself,  unless  she  lead 
from  Terror  to  Pity,  has  lost  her  way. 

Petrarca.  What  then  must  be  thought  of  a  long  and 
crowded  work,  whence  Pity  -is  violently  excluded,  and  where 
Hatred  is  the  first  personage  we  meet,  and  almost  the  last  we 
part  from? 


THE    PENTAMERON.  83 

Boccaccio.  Happily  the  poet  has  given  us  here  a  few 
breezes  of  the  morning,  a  few  glimpses  of  the  stars,  a  few 
similes  of  objects  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed  among 
the  amusements  or  occupations  of  the  country.  Some  of  them 
would  be  less  admired  in  a  meaner  author,  and  are  welcome 
here  chiefly  as  a  variety  and  relief  to  the  mind,  after  a  long 
continuance  in  a  painful  posture.  Have  you  not  frequently 
been  pleased  with  a  short  quotation  of  verses  in  themselves  but 
indifferent,  from  finding  them  in  some  tedious  dissertation,  — 
and  especially  if  they  carry  you  forth  a  little  into  the  open  air  ? 

Petrarca.  I  am  not  quite  certain  whether  if  the  verses 
were  indifferent,  I  should  willingly  exchange  the  prose  for 
them,  bad  prose  being  less  wearisome  than  bad  poetry,  —  so 
much  less,  indeed,  that  the  advantage  of  the  exchange  might 
fail  to  balance  the  account. 

Boccaccio.  Let  me  try  whether  I  cannot  give  you  an  ex- 
ample of  such  effect,  having  already  given  you  the  tedious 
dissertation. 

Petrarca.     Do  your  worst. 

Boccaccio.     Not  that  neither,  but  bad  enough. 

THE  PILGRIM'S  SHELL. 

Under  a  tuft  of  eglantine,  at  noon, 
I  saw  a  pilgrim  loosen  his  broad  shell 
To  catch  the  water  off  a  stony  tongue  : 
Medusa's  it  might  be,  or  Pan's,  erewhile, 
For  the  huge  head  was  shapeless,  eaten  out 
By  time  and  tempest  here,  and  here  embossed 
With  clasping  tangles  of  dark  maidenhair 

"  How  happy  is  thy  thirst !  how  soon  assuaged  ! 
How  sweet  that  coldest  water  this  hot  day  !  " 
Whispered  my  thoughts ;  not  having  yet  observed 
His  shell  so  shallow  and  so  chipped  around. 
Tall  though  he  was,  he  held  it  higher,  to  meet 
The  sparkler  at  its  outset :  with  fresh  leap, 
Vigorous  as  one  just  free  upon  the  world, 
Impetuous  too  as  one  first  checked,  with  stamp 
Heavy  as  ten  such  sparklers  might  be  deemed, 
Rushed  it  amain,  from  cavity  and  rim 
And  rim's  divergent  channels,  and  dropped  thick 
(Issuing  at  wrist  and  elbow)  on  the  grass. 
The  pilgrim  shook  his  head,  and  fixing  up 
His  scallop, 

"  There  is  something  yet,"  said  he. 
"  Too  scanty  in  this  world  for  my  desires  !  " 


84  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Petrarca.  O  Giovanni !  these  are  better  thoughts  and  op- 
portuner  than  such  lonely  places  formerly  supplied  us  with. 
The  whispers  of  rose-bushes  were  not  always  so  innocent : 
under  the  budding  and  under  the  full-blown  we  sometimes  find 
other  images ;  sometimes  the  pure  fountain  failed  in  bringing 
purity  to  the  heart. 

"  Unholy  fire  sprang  up  in  fields  and  woods  ; 
The  air  that  fanned  it  came  from  solitudes." 

If  our  desires  are  worthy  ones  and  accomplished,  we  rejoice 
in  after  time  ;  if  unworthy  and  unsuccessful,  we  rejoice  no  less 
at  their  discomfiture  and  miscarriage.  We  cannot  have  all  we 
wish  for.  Nothing  is  said  oftener,  nothing  earlier,  nothing 
later :  it  begins  in  the  arms  with  the  chidings  of  the  nurse ;  it 
will  terminate  with  the  milder  voice  of  the  physician  at  the 
death-bed.  But  although  everybody  has  heard  and  must  have 
said  it,  yet  nobody  seems  to  have  said  or  considered  that  it  is 
much,  very  much,  to  be  able  to  form  and  project  our  wishes ; 
that  in  the  voyage  we  take  to  compass  and  turn  them  to  ac- 
count, we  breathe  freely  and  hopefully ;  and  that  it  is  chiefly  in 
the  stagnation  of  port  we  are  in  danger  of  disappointment  and 
disease. 

Boccaccio.  The  young  man  who  resolves  to  conquer  his  love 
is  only  half  in  earnest,  or  has  already  half  conquered  it.  But 
fields  and  woods  have  no  dangers  now  for  us.  I  may  be  alone 
until  doomsday,  and  loose  thoughts  will  be  at  fault  if  they  try 
to  scent  me. 

Petrarca.  When  the  rest  of  our  smiles  have  left  us,  we  may 
smile  at  our  immunities.  There  are  indeed,  for  nearly  all, 

"  Rocks  on  the  shore  wherefrom  we  launch  on  life, 
Before  our  final  harbor  rocks  again, 
And  (narrow  sun-paced  plains  sailed  swiftly  by) 
Eddies  and  breakers  all  the  space  between." 

Yet  Nature  preserves  her  sedater  charms  for  us  both ;  and  I 
doubt  whether  we  do  not  enjoy  them  the  more  by  exemption 
from  solicitations  and  distractions.  We  are  not  old  while  we 
can  hear  and  enjoy,  as  much  as  ever, 

"  The  lonely  bird,  the  bird  of  even-song, 
When,  catching  one  far  call,  he  leaps  elate, 
In  his  full  fondness  drowns  it,  and  again 
The  shrill,  shrill  glee  through  Serravalle  rings." 


THE    PENTAMERON.  85 

Boccaccio.  The  nightingale  is  a  lively  bird  to  the  young 
and  joyous,  a  melancholy  one  to  the  declining  and  pensive. 
He  has  notes  for  every  ear,  he  has  feelings  for  every  bosom ; 
and  he  exercises  over  gentle  souls  a  wider  and  more  welcome 
dominion  than  any  other  creature.  If  I  must  not  offer  you  my 
thanks  for  bringing  to  me  such  associations  as  the  bedside  of 
sickness  is  rarely  in  readiness  to  supply ;  if  I  must  not  declare 
to  you  how  pleasant  and  well-placed  are  your  reflections  on  our 
condition,  —  I  may  venture  to  remark  on  the  nightingale,  that 
our  Italy  is  the  only  country  where  this  bird  is  killed  for  the 
market.  In  no  other  is  the  race  of  avarice  and  gluttony  so 
hard  run.  What  a  triumph  for  a  Florentine  to  hold  under  his 
fork  the  most  delightful  being  in  all  animated  nature,  —  the 
being  to  which  every  poet,  or  nearly  every  one,  dedicates  the 
first  fruits  of  his  labors  !  A  cannibal  who  devours  his  enemy 
through  intolerable  hunger,  or,  what  he  holds  as  the  measure  of 
justice  and  of  righteousness,  revenge,  may  be  viewed  with  less 
abhorrence  than  the  heartless  gormandizer  who  casts  upon  his 
loaded  stomach  the  little  breast  that  has  poured  delight  on 
thousands. 

Petrarca.  The  English,  I  remember  Ser  Geoffreddo  l 
telling  us,  never  kill  singing-birds  nor  swallows. 

Boccaccio.  Music  and  hospitality  are  sweet  and  sacred 
things  with  them ;  and  well  may  they  value  their  few  warm 
days,  out  of  which,  if  the  produce  is  not  wine  and  oil,  they 
gather  song  and  garner  sensibility. 

Petrarca.  Ser  Geoffreddo  felt  more  pleasure  in  the  gen- 
erosity and  humanity  of  his  countrymen  than  in  the  victories 
they  had  recently  won  with  incredibly  smaller  numbers  over 
their  boastful  enemy. 

Boccaccio.  I  know  not  of  what  nation  I  could  name  so 
amusing  a  companion  as  Ser  Geoffreddo.  The  Englishman  is 
rather  an  island  than  an  islander;  bluff,  stormy,  rude,  abrupt, 
repulsive,  inaccessible.  We  must  not,  however,  hold  back  or 
dissemble  the  learning  and  wisdom  and  courtesy  of  the  better. 
While  France  was  without  one  single  man  above  a  dwarf  in 
literature,  and  we  in  Italy  had  only  a  small  sprinkling  of  it, 
Richard  de  Bury  was  sent  ambassador  to  Rome  by  King 
Edward.  So  great  was  his  learning,  that  he  composed  two 
1  Chaucer. 


86  THE    PENTAMERON. 

grammars,  —  one  Greek,  one  Hebrew,  neither  of  which  labors 
had  been  attempted  by  the  most  industrious  and  erudite  of 
those  who  spoke  the  languages ;  he  likewise  formed  so  com- 
plete a  library  as  belongs  only  to  the  Byzantine  emperors. 
This  prelate  came  into  Italy  attended  by  Ser  Geoffreddo,  in 
whose  company  we  spent,  as  you  remember,  two  charming 
evenings  at  Arezzo. 

Petrarca.  What  wonderful  things  his  countrymen  have 
been  achieving  in  this  century  ! 

Boccaccio.  And  how  curious  it  is  to  trace  them  up  into  their 
Norwegian  coves  and  creeks  three  or  four  centuries  back  ! 

Petrarca.  Do  you  think  it  possible  that  Norway,  which 
never  could  maintain  sixty  thousand  ]  male  adults,  was  capable 
of  sending  from  her  native  population  a  sufficient  force  of  war- 
riors to  conquer  the  best  province  of  France  and  the  whole  of 
England  ?  And  you  must  deduct  from  these  sixty  thousand 
the  aged,  the  artisans,  the  cultivators,  and  the  clergy,  together 
with  all  the  dependents  of  the  Church,  which  numbers  united, 
we  may  believe,  amounted  to  above  one  half. 

Boccaccio.  That  she  could  embody  such  an  army  from  her 
own  very  scanty  and  scattered  population  ?  No,  indeed  ;  but  if 
you  recollect  that  a  vast  quantity  of  British  had  been  ejected  by 
incursions  of  Picts,  and  that  also  there  had  been  on  the  borders 
a  general  insurrection  against  the  Romans,  and  against  those 
of  half-blood  (which  is  always  the  case  in  a  rebellion  of  the 
aboriginals)  ;  and  if  you  believe  as  I  do,  that  the  ejected 
Romans,  of  the  coast  at  least,  became  pirates,  and  were  useful 
to  the  Scandinavians  by  introducing  what  was  needful  of  their 
arts  and  salable  of  their  plunder,  taking  in  exchange  their  iron 
and  timber,  —  you  may  readily  admit  as  a  probability,  that,  by 
the  display  of  spoils  and  the  spirit  of  enterprise,  they  encour- 
aged, headed,  and  carried  into  effect  the  invasion  of  France, 
and  subsequently  of  England.  The  English  gentlemen  of 
Norman  descent  have  neither  blue  eyes  in  general,  nor  fair 
complexions,  differing  in  physiognomy  altogether  both  from 
the  Belgic  race  and  the  Norwegian.  Besides,  they  are  remark- 
able for  a  sedate  and  somewhat  repulsive  pride,  very  different 

1  With  the  advantages  of  her  fisheries,  which  did  not  exist  in  the  age 
of  Petrarca,  and  of  her  agriculture,  which  probably  is  quintupled  since, 
Norway  does  not  contain  at  present  the  double  of  the  number. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  87 

from  the  effervescent  froth  of  the  one  and  the  sturdy  simplicity 
of  the  other.  Ser  Geoffreddo  is  not  only  the  greatest  genius, 
but  likewise  the  most  amiable  of  his  nation.  He  gave  his 
thoughts  and  took  yours  with  equal  freedom.  His  country- 
men, if  they  give  you  any,  throw  them  at  your  head ;  and  if 
they  receive  any,  cast  them  under  their  feet  before  you. 
Courtesy  is  neither  a  quality  of  native  growth,  nor  commu- 
nicable to  them.  Their  rivals,  the  French,  are  the  best  imi- 
tators in  the  world  ;  the  English  the  worst,  particularly  under 
the  instruction  of  the  Graces.  They  have  many  virtues,  no 
doubt ;  but  they  reserve  them  for  the  benefit  of  their  families 
or  of  their  enemies,  and  they  seldom  take  the  trouble  to 
unpack  them  in  their  short  intercourse  abroad. 

Petrarca.  Ser  Geoffreddo,  I  well  remember,  was  no  less  re- 
markable for  courtesy  than  for  cordiality. 

Boccaccio.  He  was  really  as  attentive  and  polite  toward  us 
as  if  he  had  made  us  prisoners.  It  is  on  that  occasion  the  Eng- 
lish are  most  unlike  their  antagonists  and  themselves.  What 
an  evil  must  they  think  it  to  be  vanquished,  when,  struggling 
with  their  bashfulness  and  taciturnity,  they  become  so  solicitous 
and  inventive  in  raising  the  spirits  of  the  fallen  !  The  French- 
min  is  ready  to  truss  you  on  his  rapier  unless  you  acknowledge 
the  perfection  of  his  humanity,  and  to  spit  in  your  face  if  you 
doubt  for  a  moment  the  delicacy  of  his  politeness.  The  English- 
man is  almost  angry  if  you  mention  either  of  these  as  belonging 
to  him,  and  turns  away  from  you  that  he  may  not  hear  it. 

Petrarca.  Let  us  felicitate  ourselves  that  we  rarely  are  forced 
to  witness  his  self-affliction. 

Boccaccio.  In  palaces,  and  especially  the  pontifical,  it  is 
likely  you  saw  the  very  worst  of  them  ;  indeed,  there  are  few  in 
any  other  country  of  such  easy,  graceful,  unaffected  manners  as 
our  Italians.  We  are  warmer  at  the  extremities  than  at  the 
heart :  sunless  nations  have  central  fires.  The  Englishman  is 
more  gratified  when  you  enable  him  to  show  you  a  fresh  kind- 
ness than  when  you  remind  him  of  a  past  one  ;  and  he  forgets 
what  he  has  conferred  as  readily  as  we  forget  what  we  have  re- 
ceived. In  our  civility,  in  our  good  nature,  in  our  temperance, 
in  our  frugality,  none  excel  us ;  and  greatly  are  we  in  advance 
of  other  men  in  the  arts,  in  the  sciences,  in  the  culture,  in  the 
application,  and  in  the  power  of  intellect.  Our  faculties  are 


88  THE    PENTAMERON. 

perfect,  with  the  sole  exception  of  memory  ;  and  our  memory  is 
only  deficient  in  its  retentiveness  of  obligation. 

Petrarca.  Better  had  it  failed  in  almost  all  its  other  func- 
tions. Yet  if  our  countrymen  presented  any  flagrant  instances 
of  ingratitude,  Alighieri  would  have  set  apart  a  bolga  for  their 
reception. 

Boccaccio.  When  I  correct  and  republish  my  "  Commen- 
tary," I  must  be  as  careful  to  gratify  as  my  author  was  to  affront 
them.  I  know,  from  the  nature  of  the  Florentines  and  of  the 
Italians  in  general,  that  in  calling  on  me  to  produce  one,  they 
would  rather  I  should  praise  indiscriminately  than  parsimonious- 
ly ;  and  respect  is  due  to  them  for  repairing,  by  all  the  means 
in  their  power,  the  injustice  their  fathers  committed,  —  for  en- 
during in  humility  his  resentment,  and  for  investing  him  with 
public  honors  as  they  would  some  deity  who  had  smitten  them. 
Respect  is  due  to  them,  and  I  will  offer  it,  for  placing  their 
greatness  on  so  firm  a  plinth,  for  deriving  their  pride  from  so 
wholesome  a  source,  and  for  declaring  to  the  world  that  the 
founder  of  a  city  is  less  than  her  poet  and  instructor. 

Petrarca.  In  the  precincts  of  those  lofty  monuments,  those 
towers  and  temples,  which  have  sprung  up  amid  her  factions, 
the  name  of  Dante  is  heard  at  last,  and  heard  with  such  rever- 
ence as  only  the  angels  or  the  saints  inspire. 

Boccaccio.  There  are  towns  so  barbarous  that  they  must  be 
informed  by  strangers  of  their  own  great  man,  when  they  happen 
to  have  produced  one,  and  would  then  detract  from  his  merits 
that  they  might  not  exhibit  their  awkwardness  in  doing  him 
honor,  or  their  shame  in  withholding  it.  There  are  such  ;  but 
not  in  Italy.  I  have  seen  youths  standing  and  looking  with 
seriousness,  and  indeed  with  somewhat  of  veneration,  on  the 
broad  and  low  stone  bench  to  the  south  of  the  cathedral,  where 
Dante  sat  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  in  summer  evenings,  and  where 
Giotto,  in  conversation  with  him,  watched  the  scaffolding  rise 
higher  and  higher  up  his  gracefullest  of  towers.  It  was  truly  a 
bold  action  when  a  youngster  pushed  another  down  on  the 
poet's  seat :  the  surprised  one  blushed  and  struggled,  as  those 
do  who  unwittingly  have  been  drawn  into  a  penalty  (not  light- 
ened by  laughter)  for  having  sitten  in  the  imperial  or  the  papal 
chair. 

Petrarca.     These  are  good  signs,  and  never  fallacious.     In 


THE    PENTAMERON.  89 

the  presence  of  such  young  persons  we  ought  to  be  very  cautious 
how  we  censure  a  man  of  genius.  One  expression  of  irreverence 
may  eradicate  what  demands  the  most  attentive  culture,  may 
wither  the  first  love  for  the  fair  and  noble,  and  may  shake  the 
confidence  of  those  who  are  about  to  give  the  hand  to  a  guidance 
less  liable  to  error.  We  have  ever  been  grateful  to  the  Deity 
for  saving  us  from  among  the  millions  swept  away  by  the  pesti- 
lence, which  depopulated  the  cities  of  Italy  and  ravaged  the 
whole  of  Europe  :  let  us  be  equally  grateful  for  an  exemption  as 
providential  and  as  rare  in  the  world  of  letters,  —  an  exemption 
from  that  Plica  Polonica  of  invidiousness,  which  infests  the 
squalider  of  poetical  heads,  and  has  not  always  spared  those 
which  ought  to  have  been  cleanlier. 

Boccaccio.  Critics  are  indignant  if  we  are  silent,  and  petulant 
if  we  complain.  You  and  I  are  so  kindly  and  considerate  in 
regard  to  them,  that  we  rather  pat  their  petulance  than  prick  up 
their  indignation.  Marsyas,  while  Apollo  was  flaying  him  leisure- 
ly and  dexterously  with  all  the  calmness  of  a  god,  shortened  his 
upper  lip  prodigiously,  and  showed  how  royal  teeth  are  fastened 
in  their  gums  ;  his  eyes  grew  blood-shot,  and  expanded  to  the 
size  of  rock- melons,  though  naturally,  in  length  and  breadth  as 
well  as  color,  they  more  resembled  a  well- ripened  bean-pod  ; 
and  there  issued  from  his  smoking  breast,  and  shook  the  leaves 
above  it,  a  rapid  irregular  rush  of  yells  and  howlings.  Remarking 
so  material  a  change  in  his  countenance  and  manners,  a  satyr, 
who  was  much  his  friend  and  deeply  interested  in  his  punish- 
ment, said  calmly,  "  Marsyas  !  Marsyas  !  is  it  thou  who  criest 
out  so  unworthily  ?  If  thou  couldst  only  look  down  from  that 
pleasant,  smooth,  shady  beech-tree,  thou  wouldst  have  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  that  thy  skin  is  more  than  half  drawn  off  thee  ; 
it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  make  a  bustle  about  it  now." 

Petrarca.  Every  Marsyas  hath  his  consoling  satyr.  Probably 
when  yours  was  flayed  he  was  found  out  to  be  a  good  musician, 
by  those  who  recommended  the  flaying  and  celebrated  the 
flayer.  Among  authors,  none  hath  so  many  friends  as  he  who 
is  just  now  dead,  and  had  the  most  enemies  last  week.  Those 
who  were  then  his  adversaries  are  now  sincerely  his  admirers  — 
for  moving  out  of  the  way,  and  leaving  one  name  less  in  the 
lottery.  And  yet,  poor  souls  !  the  prize  will  never  fall  to  them. 
There  is  something  sweet  and  generous  in  the  tone  of  praise, 


9O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

which  captivates  an  ingenuous  mind  whatever  may  be  the  subject 
of  it ;  while  propensity  to  censure  not  only  excites  suspicion  of 
malevolence,  but  reminds  the  hearer  of  what  he  cannot  dis- 
entangle from  his  earliest  ideas  of  vulgarity.  There  being  no 
pleasure  in  thinking  ill,  it  is  wonderful  there  should  be  any  in 
speaking  ill.  You,  my  friend,  can  find  none  in  it ;  but  every 
step  you  are  about  to  take  in  the  revisal  of  your  Lectures  will 
require  much  caution.  Aware  you  must  be  that  there  are  many 
more  defects  in  our  author  than  we  have  touched  or  glanced  at : 
principally,  the  loose  and  shallow  foundation  of  so  vast  a  struc- 
ture ;  its  unconnectedness ;  its  want  of  manners,  of  passion,  of 
action  consistently  and  uninterruptedly  at  work  toward  a  distinct 
and  worthy  purpose ;  and  lastly  (although  less  importantly  as 
regards  the  poetical  character)  that  splenetic  temper,  which 
seems  to  grudge  brightness  to  the  flames  of  hell,  to  delight  in 
deepening  its  gloom,  in  multiplying  its  miseries,  in  accum- 
ulating weight  upon  depression,  and  building  labyrinths  about 
perplexity. 

Boccaccio.  Yet,  O  Francesco !  when  I  remember  what 
Dante  had  suffered  and  was  suffering  from  the  malice  and  ob- 
duracy of  his  enemies;  when  I  feel  (and  how  I  do  feel  it !) 
that  you  also  have  been  following  up  his  glory  through  the 
same  paths  of  exile,  —  I  can  rest  only  on  what  is  great  in 
him,  and  the  exposure  of  a  fault  appears  to  me  almost  an 
inhumanity. 

The  first  time  I  ever  walked  to  his  villa  on  the  Mugnone,  I 
felt  a  vehement  desire  to  enter  it ;  and  yet  a  certain  awe  came 
upon  me,  as  about  to  take  an  unceremonious  and  an  unlawful 
advantage  of  his  absence.  While  I  was  hesitating,  its  inhabitant 
opened  the  gate,  saluted  and  invited  me.  My  desire  vanished 
at  once ;  and  although  the  civility  far  exceeded  what  a  stranger 
as  I  was  (and  so  young  a  sti anger  too)  could  expect,  or  what 
probably  the  more  illustrious  owner  would  have  vouchsafed, 
the  place  itself  and  the  disparity  of  its  occupier  made  me  shrink 
from  it  in  sadness,  and  stand  before  him  almost  silent.  I  be- 
lieve I  should  do  the  same  at  the  present  day. 

Petrarca.  With  such  feelings,  which  are  ours  in  common, 
there  is  little  danger  that  we  should  be  unjust  toward  him  ;  .  and 
if  ever  our  opinions  come  before  the  public,  we  may  disregard 
the  petulance  and  aspersions  of  those  whom  Nature  never  con- 


THE    PENTAMERON.  91 

stituted  our  judges,  as  she  did  us  of  Dante.  It  is  our  duty  to 
speak  with  freedom ;  it  is  theirs  to  listen  with  respect. 

Boccaccio.  History  would  come  much  into  the  criticism, 
and  would  perform  the  most  interesting  part  in  it.  But  I 
clearly  see  how  unsafe  it  is  to  meddle  with  the  affairs  of  fami- 
lies ;  and  every  family  in  Florence  is  a  portion  of  the  govern- 
ment, or  has  been  lately.  Every  one  preserves  the  annals  of 
the  Republic,  —  the  facts  being  nearly  the  same,  the  inferences 
widely  diverging,  the  motives  utterly  dissimilar.  A  strict  ex- 
amination of  Dante  would  involve  the  bravest  and  most  in- 
telligent ;  and  the  court  of  Rome,  with  its  royal  agents,  would 
persecute  them  as  conspirators  against  religion,  against  morals, 
against  the  peace,  the  order,  the  existence  of  society.  When 
studious  and  quiet  men  get  into  power,  they  fancy  they  cannot 
show  too  much  activity,  and  very  soon  prove,  by  exerting  it, 
that  they  can  show  too  little  discretion.  The  military,  the 
knightly,  the  baronial,  are  spurred  on  to  join  in  the  chase ;  but 
the  fleshers  have  other  names  and  other  instincts. 

Petrarca.  Posterity  will  regret  that  many  of  those  allusions 
to  persons  and  events  which  we  now  possess  in  the  pages  of 
Dante,  have  not  reached  her.  Among  the  ancients  there  are 
few  poets  who  more  abound  in  them  than  Horace  does,  and 
yet  we  feel  certain  that  there  are  many  which  are  lost  to  us. 

Boccaccio.  I  wonder  you  did  not  mention  him  before. 
Perhaps  he  is  no  favorite  with  you. 

Petrarca.  Why  cannot  we  be  delighted  with  an  author,  and 
even  feel  a  predilection  for  him,  without  a  dislike  of  others  ? 
An  admiration  of  Catullus  or  Virgil,  of  Tibullus  or  Ovid,  is 
never  to  be  heightened  by  a  discharge  of  bile  on  Horace. 

Boccaccio.  The  eyes  of  critics,  whether  in  commending  or 
carping,  are  both  on  one  side,  like  a  turbot's. 

Petrarca.  There  are  some  men  who  delight  in  heating 
themselves  with  wine,  and  others  with  headstrong  frowardness. 
These  are  resolved  to  agitate  the  puddle  of  their  blood  by 
running  into  parties,  literary  or  political,  and  espouse  a  cham- 
pion's cause  with  such  ardor  that  they  run  against  everything 
in  their  way.  Perhaps  they  never  knew  or  saw  the  person,  or 
understood  his  merits.  What  matter?  No  sooner  was  I  about 
to  be  crowned  than  it  was  predicted  by  these  astrologers  that 
Protonatory  Nerucci  and  Cavallerizzo  Vuotasacchetti,  —  two 


92  THE    PENTAMERON. 

lampooners,  whose  hands  latterly  had  been  kept  from  their 
occupation  by  drawing  gold-embroidered  gloves  on  them, — 
would  be  rife  in  the  mouths  of  men  after  my  name  had  fallen 
into  oblivion. 

Boccaccio.     I  never  heard  of  them  before. 

Petrarca.  So  much  the  better  for  them,  and  none  the  worse 
for  you.  Vuotasacchetti  had  been  convicted  of  niching  in  his 
youth  ;  and  Nerucci  was  so  expert  a  logician,  and  so  rigidly  eco- 
nomical a  moralist,  that  he  never  had  occasion  for  veracity. 

Boccaccio.  The  upholders  of  such  gentry  are  like  little  girls 
with  their  dolls,  —  they  must  clothe  them,  although  they  strip 
every  other  doll  in  the  nursery.  It  is  reported  that  our  Giotto, — 
a  great  mechanician  as  well  as  architect  and  painter,  —  invented 
a  certain  instrument  by  which  he  could  contract  the  dimensions 
of  any  head  laid  before  him.  But  these  gentlemen,  it  appears, 
have  improved  upon  it,  and  not  only  can  contract  one,  but 
enlarge  another. 

Petrarca.  He  could  perform  his  undertaking  with  admirable 
correctness  and  precision  :  can  they  theirs  ? 

Boccaccio.  I  never  heard  they  could ;  but  well  enough  for 
their  customers  and  their  consciences. 

Petrarca.     I  see,  then,  no  great  accuracy  is  required. 

Boccaccio.  If  they  heard  you,  they  would  think  you  very- 
dull. 

Petrarca.  They  have  always  thought  me  so,  and  if  they 
change  their  opinion  I  shall  begin  to  think  so  myself. 

Boccaccio.  They  have  placed  themselves  just  where,  if  we 
were  mischievous,  we  might  desire  to  see  them.  We  have  no 
power  to  make  them  false  and  malicious,  yet  they  become  so 
the  moment  they  see  or  hear  of  us,  and  thus  sink  lower  than 
our  force  could  ever  thrust  them.  Pigs,  it  is  said,  driven  into 
a  pool  beyond  their  depth,  cut  their  throats  by  awkward  at- 
tempts at  swimming.  We  could  hardly  wish  them  worse  luck, 
although  each  had  a  devil  in  him.  Come,  let  us  away;  we 
shall  find  a  purer  stream  and  pleasanter  company  on  the 
Sabine  farm. 

Petrarca.  We  may  indeed  think  the  first  ode  of  little  value, 
the  second  of  none,  until  we  come  to  the  sixth  stanza. 

Boccaccio.  Bad  as  are  the  first  and  second,  they  are  better 
than  that  wretched  one,  sounded  so  lugubriously  in  our  ears  at 


THE    PENTAMERON.  93 

school  as  the  masterpiece  of  the  pathetic,  —  I  mean  the  ode 
addressed  to  Virgil  on  the  death  of  Quinctilius  Varus. 

"  Praecipe  lugubres 

Cantus,  Melpomene,  cui  liquidam  pater 
Vocem  cum  cithara  dedit." 

Did  he  want  any  one  to  help  him  to  cry?  What  man  im- 
mersed in  grief  cares  a  quattrino  about  Melpomene,  or  her 
father's  fairing  of  an  artificial  cuckoo  and  a  gilt  guitar  ?  What 
man,  on  such  an  occasion,  is  at  leisure  to  amuse  himself  with 
the  little  plaster  images  of  Pudor  and  Fides,  of  Justitia  and 
Veritas,  or  disposed  to  make  a  comparison  of  Virgil  and  Or- 
pheus? But  if  Horace  had  written  a  thousand-fold  as  much 
trash,  we  are  never  to  forget  that  he  also  wrote 

"  Coelo  tonantem,  etc,"  — 

in  competition  with  which  ode,  the  finest  in  the  Greek  language 
itself  has,  to  my  ear,  too  many  low  notes,  and  somewhat  of  a 
wooden  sound.  And  give  me  "  Vixi  puellis,"  and  give  me 
"  Quis  multa  gracilis,"  and  as  many  more  as  you  please ;  for 
there  are  charms  in  nearly  all  of  them.  It  now  occurs  to  me 
that  what  is  written,  or  interpolated, 

"  Acer  et  Mauri  peditis  cruentum 
Vultus  in  hostem," 

should  be  manci,  —  a  foot  soldier  mutilated,  but  looking  with 
indignant  courage  at  the  trooper  who  inflicted  the  wound.  The 
Mauritanians  were  celebrated  only  for  their  cavalry.  In  return 
for  my  suggestion,  pray  tell  me  what  is  the  meaning  of 

"  Obliquo  laborat 
Lympha  fugax  trepidare  rivo." 

Petrarca.  The  moment  I  learn  it  you  shall  have  it.  Laborat 
trepidare!  lympha  rivo  !  fugax  too  !  Fugacity  is  not  the  action 
for  hard  work,  or  labor. 

Boccaccio.  Since  you  cannot  help  me  out,  I  must  give  up 
the  conjecture,  it  seems,  while  it  has  cost  me  only  half  a  cen- 
tury. Perhaps  it  may  be  curiosafelicitas. 

Petrarca.  There  again  !  Was  there  ever  such  an  unhappy 
(not  to  say  absurd)  expression  !  And  this  from  the  man  who 
wrote  the  most  beautiful  sentence  in  all  latinity. 


94  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.     What  is  that  ? 

Petrarca.  I  am  ashamed  of  repeating  it,  although  in  itself 
it  is  innocent.  The  words  are, 

"  Gratias  ago  languori  tuo,  quo  diutius  sub 
umbra  voluptatis  lusimus." 

Boccaccio.  Tear  out  this  from  the  volume  •  the  rest,  both 
prose  and  poetry,  may  be  thrown  away.  In  the  "  Dinner  of 
Nasidienus,"  I  remember  the  expression  nosse  laboro  ;  "  I  am 
anxious  to  know  "  :  this  expedites  the  solution  but  little.  In 
the  same  piece  there  is  another  odd  expression,  — 

"  Turn  in  lecto  quoque  videres 
Stridere  secreta  divisos  aure  susurros." 

Petrarca.  I  doubt  Horace's  felicity  in  the  choice  of  words, 
being  quite  unable  to  discover  it,  and  finding  more  evidences, 
of  the  contrary  than  in  any  contemporary  or  preceding  poet ; 
but  I  do  not  doubt  his  infelicity  in  his  transpositions  of  them, 
in  which  certainly  he  is  more  remarkable  than  whatsoever 
writer  of  antiquity.  How  simple,  in  comparison,  are  Catullus  J 
and  Lucretius  in  the  structure  of  their  sentences  !  But  the  most 
simple  and  natural  of  all  are  Ovid  and  Tibullus.  Your  main 
difficulty  lies  in  another  road ;  it  consists  not  in  making  expla- 
nations, but  in  avoiding  them.  Some  scholars  will  assert  that 
everything  I  have  written  in  my  sonnets  is  allegory  or  allusion ; 
others  will  deny  that  anything  is  ;  and  similarly  of  Dante.  It 
was  known  throughout  Italy  that  he  was  the  lover  of  Beatrice 
Porticari.  He  has  celebrated  her  in  many  compositions,  —  in 
prose  and  poetry,  in  Latin  and  Italian.  Hence  it  became  the 
safer  for  him  afterward  to  introduce  her  as  an  allegorical  per- 
sonage, in  opposition  to  the  Meretrice ;  under  which  appella- 
tion he  (and  I  subsequently)  signified  the  papacy.  Our  great 
poet  wandered  among  the  marvels  of  the  Apocalypse,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  the  most  attentively  on  the  words, 

"  Veni,  et  ostendam  tibi  sponsam,  uxorem  Agni." 

He,  as  you  know,  wrote  a  commentary  on  his  "  Commedia  "  at 
the  close  of  his  Treatise  "  De  Monarchia."  But  he  chiefly 
aims  at  showing  the  duties  of  pope  and  emperor,  and  explain- 

1  Except  "  Non  ita  me  divi  vcra  gemunt  juerint." 


THE    PENTAMERON.  95 

ing  such  parts  of  the  poem  as  manifestly  relate  to  them.  The 
Patarini  accused  the  pope  of  despoiling  and  defiling  the  Church  ; 
the  Ghibellines  accused  him  of  defrauding  and  rebelling  against 
the  Emperor  :  Dante  enlists  both  under  his  flaming  banner,  and 
exhibits  the  Meretrice  stealing  from  Beatrice  both  the  divine 
and  the  august  chariot ;  the  Church  and  Empire.  Grave  critics 
will  protest  their  inability  to  follow  you  through  such  darkness, 
saying  you  are  not  worth  the  trouble,  and  they  must  give  you 
\  up.  If  Laura  and  Fiametta  were  allegorical,  they  could  inspire 
no  tenderness  in  our  readers,  and  little  interest.  But,  alas  ! 
these  are  no  longer  the  days  to  dwell  on  them. 

Let  human  art  exert  her  utmost  force, 
Pleasure  can  rise  no  higher  than  its  source ; 
And  there  it  ever  stagnates  where  the  ground 
Beneath  it,  O  Giovanni !  is  unsound. 

Boccaccio.  ^  You  have  given  me  a  noble  quaternion ;  for 
which  I  can  only  offer  you  such  a  string  of  beads  as  I  am  used 
to  carry  about  with  me.  Memory,  they  say,  is  the  mother  of 
the  Muses ;  this  is  her  gift,  not  theirs. 

DEPARTURE   FROM   FIAMETTA. 

When  go  I  must,  as  well  she  knew, 

And  neither  yet  could  say  adieu, 

Sudden  was  my  Fiametta's  fear 

To  let  me  see  or  feel  a  tear. 

It  could  but  melt  my  heart  away, 

Nor  add  one  moment  to  my  stay. 

But  it  was  ripe  and  would  be  shed : 

So  from  her  cheek  upon  my  head 

It,  falling  on  the  neck  behind, 

Hung  on  the  hair  she  oft  had  twined. 

Thus  thought  she,  and  her  arm's  soft  strain 

Clasped  it,  and  down  it  fell  again. 

Come,  come  !  bear  your  disappointment,  and  forgive  my  cheat- 
ing you  in  the  exchange  !  Ah,  Francesco,  Francesco  !  well 
may  you  sigh,  and  I  too,  seeing  we  can  do  little  now  but 
make  verses  and  doze,  and  want  little  but  medicine  and 
Masses,  while  Fra  Biagio  is  merry  as  a  lark,  and  half  master 
of  the  house.  Do  not  look  so  grave  upon  me  for  remembering 
so  well  another  state  of  existence.  He  who  forgets  his  love 
may  still  more  easily  forget  his  friendships.  I  am  weak,  I 


96  THE    PENTAMERON. 

confess  it,  in  yielding  my  thoughts  to  what  returns  no  more ; 
but  you  alone  know  my  weakness. 

Petrarca.  We  have  loved,1  and  so  fondly  as  we  believe 
none  other  ever  did ;  and  yet  although  it  was  in  youth,  Gio- 
vanni, it  was  not  in  the  earliest  white  dawn,  when  we  almost 
shrink  from  its  freshness,  when  everything  is  pure  and  quiet, 
when  little  of  earth  is  seen,  and  much  of  heaven.  It  was  not 
so  with  us :  it  was  with  Dante.  The  little  virgin  Beatrice 
Porticari  breathed  all  her  purity  into  his  boyish  heart,  and 
inhaled  it  back  again ;  and  if  war  and  disaster,  anger  and  dis- 
dain, seized  upon  it  in  her  absence,  they  never  could  divert  its 
course  nor  impede  its  destination.  Happy  the  man  who 
carries  love  with  him  in  his  opening  day !  he  never  loses  its 
freshness  in  the  meridian  of  life,  nor  its  happier  influence  in 
the  later  hour.  If  Dante  enthroned  his  Beatrice  in  the  highest 
heaven,  it  was  Beatrice  who  conducted  him  thither.  Love 
preceding  passion  insures,  sanctifies,  and  I  would  say  survives 
it,  were  it  not  rather  an  absorption  and  transfiguration  into  its 
own  most  perfect  purity  and  holiness. 

Boccaccio.  Up  !  up  !  look  into  that  chest  of  letters,  out  of 
which  I  took  several  of  yours  to  run  over  yesterday  morning. 
All  those  of  a  friend  whom  we  have  lost,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
tenderer  affection,  touch  us  sensibly,  be  the  subject  what  it 
may.  When  in  taking  them  out  to  read  again  we  happen  to 
come  upon  him  In  some  pleasant  mood,  it  is  then  the  dead 
man's  hand  is  at  the  heart.  Opening  the  same  paper  long 
afterward,  can  we  wonder  if  a  tear  has  raised  its  little  island 
in  it?  Leave  me  the  memory  of  all  my  friends,  even  of  the 
ungrateful !  They  must  remind  me  of  some  kind  feeling, 
and  perhaps  of  theirs ;  and  for  that  very  reason  they  deserve 
another.  It  was  not  my  fault  if  they  turned  out  less  worthy 
than  I  hoped  and  fancied  them.  Yet  half  the  world  complains 
of  ingratitude,  and  the  remaining  half  of  envy.  Of  the  one 
I  have  already  told  you  my  opinion,  and  heard  yours ;  and  the 
other  we  may  surely  bear  with  quite  as  much  equanimity. 

1  The  tender  and  virtuous  Shenstone,  in  writing  the  most  beautiful  of 
epitaphs,  was  unaware  how  near  he  stood  to  Petrarca, — "  Heu  quanto 
minus  est  cum  aliis  versari  quam  tui  meminisse." 

"  Pur  mi  consola  che  morir  per  lei 
Meglio  e  che  gioir  d'altra." 


THE    PENTAMERON.  97 

For  rarely  are  we  envied,  until  we  are  so  prosperous  that  envy 
is  rather  a  familiar  in  our  train  than  an  enemy  who  waylays  us. 
If  we  saw  nothing  of  such  followers  and  outriders,  and  no 
scabbard  with  our  initials  upon  it,  we  might  begin  to  doubt 
our  station. 

Petrarca.  Giovanni,  you  are  unsuspicious,  and  would 
scarcely  see  a  monster  in  a  minotaur.  It  is  well,  however,  to 
draw  good  out  of  evil,  and  it  is  the  peculiar  gift  of  an  elevated 
mind.  Nevertheless,  you  must  have  observed,  although  with 
greater  curiosity  than  concern,  the  slipperiness  and  tortuous- 
ness  of  your  detractors. 

Boccaccio.  Whatever  they  detract  from  me,  they  leave  more 
than  they  can  carry  away.  Besides,  they  always  are  detected. 

Petrarca.  When  they  are  detected,  they  raise  themselves 
up  fiercely,  as  if  their  nature  were  erect  and  they  could  reach 
your  height. 

Boccaccio.  Envy  would  conceal  herself  under  the  shadow 
and  shelter  of  contemptuousness,  but  she  swells  too  huge  for 
the  den  she  creeps  into.  Let  her  lie  there  and  crack,  and 
think  no  more  about  her.  The  people  you  have  been  talking 
of  can  find  no  greater  and  no  other  faults  in  my  writings  than 
I  myself  am  willing  to  show  them,  and  still  more  willing  to  cor- 
rect. There  are  many  things,  as  you  have  just  now  told  me, 
very  unworthy  of  their  company. 

Petrarca.  He  who  has  much  gold  is  none  the  poorer  for 
having  much  silver  too.  When  a  king  of  old  displayed  his 
wealth  and  magnificence  before  a  philosopher,  the  philosopher's 
exclamation  was,  "  How  many  things  are  here  which  I  do  not 
want !  " 

Does  not  the  same  reflection  come  upon  us,  when  we  have 
laid  aside  our  compositions  for  a  time,  and  look  into  them 
again  more  leisurely?  Do  we  not  wonder  at  our  own  pro- 
fusion, and  say  like  the  philosopher,  "  How  many  things  are 
here  which  I  do  not  want !  " 

It  may  happen  that  we  pull  up  flowers  with  weeds ;  but 
better  this  than  rankness.  WTe  must  bear  to  see  our  first-born 
despatched  before  our  eyes,  and  give  them  up  quietly. 

Boccaccio.  The  younger  will  be  the  most  reluctant.  There 
are  poets  among  us  who  mistake  in  themselves  the  freckles  of 
the  hay-fever  for  beauty-spots.  In  another  half-century  their 

7 


98  THE    PENTAMERON. 

volumes  will  be  inquired  after ;  but  only  for  the  sake  of  cutting 
out  an  illuminated  letter  from  the  titlepage,  or  of  transplanting 
the  willow  at  the  end,  that  hangs  so  prettily  over  the  tomb  of 
Amaryllis.  If  they  wish  to  be  healthy  and  vigorous,  let  them 
open  their  bosoms  to  the  breezes  of  Sunium ;  for  the  air  of 
Latium  is  heavy  and  overcharged.  Above  all,  they  must  re- 
member two  admonitions :  first,  that  sweet  things  hurt  diges- 
tion ;  secondly,  that  great  sails  are  ill  adapted  to  small  vessels. 
What  is  there  lovely  in  poetry  unless  there  be  moderation  and 
composure?  Are  they  not  better  than  the  hot,  uncontrollable 
harlotry  of  a  flaunting,  dishevelled  enthusiasm  ?  Whoever  has 
the  power  of  creating,  has  likewise  the  inferior  power  of  keep- 
ing his  creation  in  order.  The  best  poets  are  the  most  im- 
pressive, because  their  steps  are  regular ;  for  without  regularity 
there  is  neither  strength  nor  state.  Look  at  Sophocles,  look  at 
^Eschylus,  look  at  Homer. 

Petrarca.  I  agree  with  you  entirely  to  the  whole  extent  of 
your  observations ;  and  if  you  will  continue,  I  am  ready  to  lay 
aside  my  Dante  for  the  present. 

Boccaccio.  No,  no ;  we  must  have  him  again  between  us : 
there  is  no  danger  that  he  will  sour  our  tempers. 

Petrarca.  In  comparing  his  and  yours,  since  you  forbid  me 
to  declare  all  I  think  of  your  genius,  you  will  at  least  allow  me 
to  congratulate  you  as  being  the  happier  of  the  two. 

Boccaccio.  Frequently,  when  there  is  great  power  in  poetry, 
the  imagination  makes  encroachments  on  the  heart,  and  uses  it 
as  her  own.  I  have  shed  tears  on  writings  which  never  cost 
the  writer  a  sigh,  but  which  occasioned  him  to  rub  the  palms 
of  his  hands  together,  until  they  were  ready  to  strike  fire,  with 
satisfaction  at  having  overcome  the  difficulty  of  being  tender. 

Peti-arca.     Giovanni,  are  you  not  grown  satirical  ? 

Bocccftcio.  Not  in  this.  It  is  a  truth  as  broad  and  glaring 
as  the  eye  of  the  Cyclops.  To  make  you  amends  for  your  shud- 
dering, I  will  express  my  doubt,  on  the  other  hand,  whether 
Dante  felt  all  the  indignation  he  threw  into  his  poetry.  We 
are  immoderately  fond  of  warming  ourselves ;  and  we  do  not 
think,  or  care,  what  the  fire  is  composed  of.  Be  sure  it  is  not 
always  of  cedar,  like  Circe's.1  Our  Alighieri  had  slipped  into 

1  Dives  inaccessis  ubi  Soils  filia  lucis 
Urit  odoratam  nocturna  in  lumina  cedrum.  —  AZneid. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  99 

the  habit  of  vituperation ;  and  he  thought  it  fitted  him,  —  so  he 
never  left  it  off. 

Petrarca.  Serener  colors  are  pleasanter  to  our  eyes  and 
more  becoming  to  our  character.  The  chief  desire  in  every 
man  of  genius  is  to  be  thought  one  ;  and  no  fear  or  appre- 
hension lessens  it.  Alighieri,  who  had  certainly  studied  the 
gospel,  must  have  been  conscious  that  he  not  only  was  inhu- 
mane, but  that  he  betrayed  a  more  vindictive  spirit  than  any 
pope  or  prelate  who  is  enshrined  within  the  fretwork  of  his 
golden  grating. 

Boccaccio.  Unhappily,  his  strong  talon  had  grown  into  him, 
and  it  would  have  pained  him  to  suffer  its  amputation.  This 
eagle,  unlike  Jupiter's,  never  loosened  the  thunderbolt  from  it 
under  the  influence  of  harmony. 

Petrarca.  The  only  good  thing  we  can  expect  in  such 
minds  and  tempers  is  good  poetry ;  let  us  at  least  get  that,  and 
having  it,  let  us  keep  and  value  it.  If  you  had  never  written 
some  wanton  stories,  you  would  never  have  been  able  to  show 
the  world  how  much  wiser  and  better  you  grew  afterward. 

Boccaccio.^  Alas  !  if  I  live,  I  hope  to  show  it.  You  have 
raised  my  spirits ;  and  now,  dear  Francesco,  do  say  a  couple  of 
prayers  for  me,  while  I  lay  together  the  materials  of  a  tale,  —  a 
right  merry  one,  I  promise  you.  Faith  !  it  shall  amuse  you, 
and  pay  decently  for  the  prayers,  —  a  good  honest  litany-worth. 
I  hardly  know  whether  I  ought  to  have  a  nun  in  it :  do  you 
think  I  may? 

Petrarca.     Cannot  you  do  without  one? 

Boccaccio.  No  !  a  nun  I  must  have,  —  say  nothing  against 
her ;  I  can  more  easily  let  the  abbess  alone.  Yet  Frate  Biagio,1 

1  Our  San  Vivaldo  is  enriched  by  his  deposit.  In  the  church,  on  the 
fifth  flagstone  from  before  the  high  altar,  is  this  inscription  :  — 

HIC  SITUS  EST, 

BEATAM  IMMORTALITATEM  EXPECTANS, 

D.  BLASIUS  DE  BLASIIS, 

HUJUS  CCENOBII  ABBAS, 

SINGULARI  VIR  CHARITATE, 

MORIBUS  INTEGERRIMIS, 
REI  THEOLOGICJE  NEC  NON  PHYSIC-iE 

PERITISSIMUS. 
ORATE  PRO  ANIMA  EJUS. 

To  the  word  orate  have  been  prefixed  the  letters  PL,  —  the  aspiration,  no 
doubt,  of  some  friendly  monk,  although  Monsignore  thinks  it  susceptible 
of  two  interpretations;  the  other  he  reserves  in  petto.  — Domenico  Grigi. 


IOO  THE    PENTAMERON. 

—  that  Frate  Biagio,  who  never  came  to  visit  me  but  when  he 
thought  I  was  at  extremities  or  asleep  —  Assuntina  !  are  you 
there  ? 

Petrarca.     No  ;  do  you  want  her? 

Boccaccio.  Not  a  bit.  That  Frate  Biagio  has  heightened 
my  pulse  when  I  could  not  lower  it  again.  The  very  devil  is 
that  Frate  for  heightening  pulses.  And  with  him  I  shall  now 
make  merry,  —  God  willing  !  —  in  God's  good  time,  should  it 
be  his  divine  will  to  restore  me,  which  I  think  he  has  begun 
to  do  miraculously.  I  seem  to  be  within  a  frog's  leap  of  well 
again ;  and  we  will  presently  have  some  rare  fun  in  my  "  Tale 
of  the  Frate." 

Petrarca.     Do  not  openly  name  him. 

Boccaccio.  He  shall  recognize  himself  by  one  single  expres- 
sion. He  said  to  me,  when  I  was  at  the  worst,  — 

"  Ser  Giovanni,  it  would  not  be  much  amiss  (with  permis- 
sion !)  if  you  begin  to  think  (at  any  spare  time)  just  a  morsel 
of  eternity." 

"  Ah  !  Fra  Biagio  !  "  answered  I,  contritely,  "  I  never  heard 
a  sermon  of  yours  but  I  thought  of  it  seriously  and  uneasily 
long  before  the  discourse  was  over." 

"  So  must  all,"  replied  he ;  "and  yet  few  have  the  grace  to 
own  it." 

Now,  mind,  Francesco  !  if  it  should  please  the  Lord  to  call 
me  unto  him,  I  say  "The  Nun  and  Fra  Biagio  "  will  be  found, 
after  my  decease,  in  the  closet  cut  out  of  the  wall,  behind  yon 
Saint  Zacharias  in  blue  and  yellow. 

Well  done  !  well  done  !  Francesco.  I  never  heard  any  man 
repeat  his  prayers  so  fast  and  fluently.  Why  !  how  many  (at  a 
guess)  have  you  repeated?  Such  is  the  power  of  friendship, 
and  such  the  habit  of  religion  !  They  have  done  me  good  ;  I 
feel  myself  stronger  already.  To-morrow  I  think  I  shall  be 
able,  by  leaning  on  that  stout  maple  stick  in  the  corner,  to  walk 
half  over  my  podere. 

Have  you  done?     Have  you  done? 

Petrarca.     Be  quiet ;  you  may  talk  too  much. 

Boccaccio.  I  cannot  be  quiet  for  another  hour;  so  if  you 
have  any  more  prayers  to  get  over,  stick  the  spur  into  the  other 
side  of  them  ;  they  must  verily  speed,  if  they  beat  the  last. 

Petrarca.     Be  more  serious,  dear  Giovanni. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  IOI 

Boccaccio.  Never  bid  a  convalescent  be  more  serious ;  no, 
nor  a  sick  man  neither.  To  health  it  may  give  that  composure 
which  it  takes  away  from  sickness.  Every  man  will  have  his 
hours  of  seriousness,  but  like  the  hours  of  rest,  they  often  are 
ill  chosen  and  unwholesome.  Be  assured,  our  Heavenly  Father 
is  as  well  pleased  to  see  his  children  in  the  playground  as  in 
the  schoolroom.  He  has  provided  both  for  us,  and  has  given 
us  intimations  when  each  should  occupy  us. 

Petrarca.  You  are  .right,  Giovanni ;  but  we  know  which  bell 
is  heard  the  most  distinctly.  We  fold  our  arms  at  the  one,  try 
the  cooler  part  of  the  pillow,  and  turn  again  to  slumber ;  at  the 
first  stroke  of  the  other,  we  are  beyond  our  monitors.  As  for 
you,  hardly  Dante  himself  could  make  you  grave. 

Boccaccio.  I  do  not  remember  how  it  happened  that  we 
slipped  away  from  his  side.  One  of  us  must  have  found  him 
tedious. 

Petrarca.  If  you  were  really  and  substantially  at  his  side, 
he  would  have  no  mercy  on  you. 

Boccaccio.  In  sooth,  our  good  Alighieri  seems  to  have  had 
the  appetite  of  a  dogfish  or  shark,  and  to  have  bitten  the  harder 
the  warmer  he  was.  I  would  not  voluntarily  be  under  his  mani- 
fold rows  of  dentals.  He  has  an  incisor  to  every  saint  in  the 
calendar.  I  should  fare,  methinks,  like  Brutus  and  the  Arch- 
bishop. He  is  forced  to  stretch  himself,  out  of  sheer  listless- 
ness,  in  so  idle  a  place  as  Purgatory ;  he  loses  half  his  strength 
in  Paradise.  Hell  alone  makes  him  alert  and  lively ;  there  he 
moves  about  and  threatens  as  tremendously  as  the  serpent  that 
opposed  the  legions  on  their  march  in  Africa.  He  would  not 
have  been  contented  in  Tuscany  itself,  even  had  his  enemies 
left  him  unmolested.  Were  I  to  write  on  his  model  a  tripartite 
poem,  I  think  it  should  be  entitled,  "  Earth,  Italy,  and  Heaven." 

Petrarca.     You  will  never  give  yourself  the  trouble. 

Boccaccio.     I  should  not  succeed. 

Petrarca.  Perhaps  not ;  but  you  have  done  very  much,  and 
may  be  able  to  do  very  much  more. 

Boccaccio.  Wonderful  is  it  to  me,  when  I  consider  that  an 
infirm  and  helpless  creature  as  I  am  should  be  capable  of  laying 
thoughts  up  in  their  cabinets  of  words,  which  Time,  as  he  rushes 
by  with  the  revolutions  of  stormy  and  destructive  years,  can 
never  move  from  their  places.  On  this  coarse  mattress,  one 


IO2  THE    PENTAMERON. 

among  the  homeliest  in  the  fair  at  Impruneta,  is  stretched  an 
old  burgess  of  Certaldo,  of  whom  perhaps  more  will  be  known 
hereafter  than  we  know  of  the  Ptolemies  and  the  Pharaohs ; 
while  popes  and  princes  are  lying  as  unregarded  as  the  fleas 
that  are  shaken  out  of  the  window.  Upon  my  life,  Francesco, 
to  think  of  this  is  enough  to  make  a  man  presumptuous. 

Petrarca.  No,  Giovanni,  not  when  the  man  thinks  justly  of 
it,  as  such  a  man  ought  to  do,  and  must.  For  so  mighty  a 
power  over  Time,  who  casts  all  other  mortals  under  his,  comes 
down  to  us  from  a  greater ;  and  it  is  only  if  we  abuse  the  vic- 
tory that  it  were  better  we  had  encountered  a  defeat.  Unre- 
mitting care  must  be  taken  that  nothing  soil  the  monuments 
we  are  raising :  sure  enough  we  are  that  nothing  can  subvert, 
and  nothing  but  our  negligence,  or  worse  than  negligence,  efface 
them.  Under  the  glorious  lamp  intrusted  to  your  vigilance, 
one  among  the  lights  of  the  world  which  the  ministering  angels 
of  our  God  have  suspended  for  his  service,  let  there  stand,  with 
unclosing  eyes,  Integrity,  Compassion,  Self-denial. 

Boccaccio.  These  are  holier  and  cheerfuller  images  than 
Dante  has  been  setting  up  before  us.  I  hope  every  thesis  in 
dispute  among  his  theologians  will  be  settled  ere  I  set  foot 
among  them.  I  like  Tuscany  well  enough,  —  it  answers  all 
my  purposes  for  the  present ;  and  I  am  without  the  benefit  of 
those  preliminary  studies  which  might  render  me  a  worthy 
auditor  of  incomprehensible  wisdom. 

Petrarca.  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  attached  to  Tuscany. 
Many  as  have  been  your  visits  and  adventures  in  other  parts, 
you  have  rendered  it  pleasanter  and  more  interesting  than  any ; 
and  indeed  we  can  scarcely  walk  in  any  quarter  from  the  gates 
of  Florence  without  the  recollection  of  some  witty  or  affecting 
story  related  by  you.  Everv  street,  every  farm,  is  peopled  by 
your  genius  ;  and  this  population  cannot  change  with  seasons  or 
with  ages,  with  factions  or  with  incursions.  Ghibellines  and 
Guelphs  will  have  been  contested  for  only  by  the  worms,  long 
before  the  "  Decameron  "  has  ceased  to  be  recited  on  our  banks 
of  blue  lilies  and  under  our  arching  vines.  Another  plague  may 
come  amidst  us ;  and  something  of  a  solace  in  so  terrible  a 
visitation  would  be  found  in  your  pages,  by  those  to  whom 
letters  are  a  refuge  and  relief. 

Boccaccio.     I  do  indeed  think  my  little  bevy  from  Santa 


THE    PENTAMERON.  IO3 

Maria  Novella  would  be  better  company  on  such  an  occasion 
than  a  devil  with  three  heads,  who  diverts  the  pain  his  claws 
inflicted  by  sticking  his  fangs  in  another  place. 

Petrarca.  '  This  is  atrocious,  not  terrific  nor  grand.  Alighieri 
is  grand  by  his  lights,  not  by  his  shadows ;  by  his  human  affec 
tions,  not  by  his  infernal.  As  the  minutest  sands  are  the  labors 
of  some  profound  sea  or  the  spoils  of  some  vast  mountain,  in 
like  manner  his  horrid  wastes  and  wearying  minutenesses  are  the 
chafings  of  a  turbulent  spirit,  grasping  the  loftiest  things  and 
penetrating  the  deepest,  and  moving  and  moaning  on  the  earth 
in  loneliness  and  sadness. 

Boccaccio.     Among  men  he  is  what  among  waters  is 

The  strange,  mysterious,  solitary  Nile. 

Petrarca.     Is  that  his  verse  ?     I  do  not  remember  it. 

Boccaccio.  No,  it  is  mine  for  the  present ;  how  long  it  may 
continue  mine,  I  cannot  tell.  I  never  run  after  those  who  steal 
my  apples,  —  it  would  only  tire  me  ;  and  they  are  hardly  worth 
recovering  when  they  are  bruised  and  bitten,  as  they  are  usu- 
ally. I  would  not  stand  upon  my  verses ;  it  is  a  perilous  boy's 
trick,  which  we  ought  to  leave  off  when  we  put  on  square  shoes. 
Let  our  prose  show  what  we  are,  and  our  poetry  what  we  have 
been. 

Petrarca.  You  would  never  have  given  this  advice  to  our 
Alighieri. 

Boccaccio.  I  would  never  plough  porphyry ;  there  is  ground 
fitter  for  grain.  Alighieri  is  the  parent  of  his  system, — like  the 
sun,  about  whom  all  the  worlds  are  but  particles  thrown  forth 
from  him.  We  may  write  little  things  well,  and  accumulate 
one  upon  another,  but  never  will  any  be  justly  called  a  great 
poet  unless  he  has  treated  a  great  subject  worthily.  He  may 
be  the  poet  of  the  lover  and  of  the  idler,  he  may  be  the  poet 
of  green  fields  or  gay  society ;  but  whoever  is  this  can  be  no 
more.  A  throne  is  not  built  of  birds'  nests,  nor  do  a  thousand 
reeds  make  a  trumpet. 

Petrarca.  I  wish  our  Alighieri  had  blown  his  on  nobler 
occasions. 

Boccaccio.  We  may  rightly  wish  it ;  but  in  regretting  what 
he  wanted,  let  us  acknowledge  what  he  had,  and  never  forget 
(which  we  omitted  to  mention)  that  he  borrowed  less  from  his 


IO4  THE    PENTAMERON. 

predecessors  than  any  of  the  Roman  poets  from  theirs.  Rea- 
sonably may  it  be  expected  that  almost  all  who  follow  will  be 
greatly  more  indebted  to  antiquity,  to  whose  stores  we  every 
year  are  making  some  addition. 

Petrarca.  It  can  be  held  no  flaw  in  the  title-deeds  of  genius 
if  the  same  thoughts  reappear  as  have  been  exhibited  long  ago. 
The  indisputable  sign  of  defect  should  be  looked  for  in  the 
proportion  they  bear  to  the  unquestionably  original.  There  are 
ideas  which  necessarily  must  occur  to  minds  of  the  like  magni- 
tude and  materials,  aspect  and  temperature.  When  two  ages 
are  in  the  same  phasis,  they  will  excite  the  same  humors,  and 
produce  the  same  coincidences  and  combinations.  In  addition 
to  which,  a  great  poet  may  really  borrow ;  he  may  even  con- 
descend to  an  obligation  at  the  hand  of  an  equal  or  inferior,  — 
but  he  forfeits  his  title  if  he  borrows  more  than  the  amount  of 
his  own  possessions.  The  nightingale  himself  takes  somewhat 
of  his  song  from  birds  less  glorified ;  and  the  lark,  having 
beaten  with  her  wing  the  very  gates  of  heaven,  cools  her  breast 
among  the  grass.  The  lowlier  of  intellect  may  lay  out  a  table 
in  their  field,  at  which  table  the  highest  one  shall  sometimes 
be  disposed  to  partake ;  want  does  not  compel  him.  Imita- 
tion, as  we  call  it,  is  often  weakness,  but  it  likewise  is  often 
sympathy. 

Boccaccio.  Our  poet  was  seldom  accessible  in  this  quarter. 
Invective  picks  up  the  first  stone  on  the  wayside,  and  wants 
leisure  to  consult  a  forerunner. 

Petrarca.  Dante,  original  enough  everywhere,  is  coarse  and 
clumsy  in  this  career.  Vengeance  has  nothing  to  do  with  com- 
edy, nor  properly  with  satire.  The  satirist  who  told  us  that 
Indignation  made  his  verses 1  for  him,  might  have  been  told  in 
return  that  she  excluded  him  thereby  from  the  first  class,  and 
thrust  him  among  the  rhetoricians  and  declaimers.  Lucretius, 
in  his  vituperation,  is  graver  and  more  dignified  than  Alighieri. 
Painfyl,  to  see  how  tolerant  is  the  atheist,  how  intolerant  the 
Catholic,  how  anxiously  the  one  removes  from  among  the  suffer- 
ings of  mortality  her  last  and  heaviest, — the  fear  of  a  vindictive 
fury  pursuing  her  shadow  across  rivers  of  fire  and  tears,  —  how 
laboriously  the  other  brings  down  anguish  and  despair,  even 
when  death  has  done  his  work.  How  grateful  the  one  is  to  that 

1  Facit  indignatio  versum.  —  Juvenal. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  IO5 

beneficent  philosopher  who  made  him  at  peace  with  himself, 
and  tolerant  and  kindly  toward  his  fellow-creatures  !  How  im- 
portunate the  other  that  God  should  forego  his  divine  mercy,  and 
hurl  everlasting  torments  both  upon  the  dead  and  the  living  ! 

Boccaccio.  I  have  always  heard  that  Ser  Dante  was  a  very 
good  man  and  sound  Catholic ;  but  Christ  forgive  me  if  my 
heart  is  oftener  on  the  side  of  Lucretius.1  Observe,  I  say  my 
heart ;  nothing  more.  I  devoutly  hold  to  the  sacraments  and 
the  mysteries ;  yet  somehow  I  would  rather  see  men  tranquil- 
lized than  frightened  out  of  their  senses,  and  rather  fast  asleep 
than  burning.  Sometimes  I  have  been  ready  to  believe,  as  far 
as  our  holy  faith  will  allow  me,  that  it  were  better  our  Lord  were 
nowhere  than  torturing  in  his  inscrutable  wisdom,  to  all  eternity, 
so  many  myriads  of  us  poor  devils,  the  creatures  of  his  hands. 
Do  not  cross  thyself  so  thickly,  Francesco,  nor  hang  down 
thy  nether  lip  so  loosely,  languidly,  and  helplessly,  for  I  would 
be  a  good  Catholic,  alive  or  dead.  But  upon  my  conscience, 
it  goes  hard  with  me  to  think  it  of  him,  when  I  hear  that  wood- 
lark  yonder  gushing  with  joyousness,  or  when  I  see  the  beauti- 
ful clouds,  resting  so  softly  upon  one  another,  dissolving  —  and 
not  damned  for  it.  Above  all,  I  am  slow  to  apprehend  it 
when  I  remember  his  great  goodness  vouchsafed  to  me,  and 
reflect  on  my  sinful  life  heretofore,  chiefly  in  summer  time,  and 
in  cities  or  their  vicinity.  But  I  was  tempted  beyond  my 
strength,  and  I  fell  as  any  man  might  do.  However,  this  last 
illness,  by  God's  grace,  has  well-nigh  brought  me  to  my  right 
mind  again  in  all  such  matters ;  and  if  I  get  stout  in  the 
present  month,  and  can  hold  out  the  next  without  sliding, 
I  do  verily  think  I  am  safe,  or  nearly  so,  until  the  season  of 
beccaficoes. 

Petrarca.     Be  not  too  confident ! 

Boccaccio.     Well,  I  will  not  be. 

Petrarca.     But  be  firm. 

Boccaccio.     Assuntina  !  what !  are  you  come  in  again  ? 

Assunta.     Did  you  or  my  master  call  me,  Riverenza? 

Petrarca.     No,  child  ! 

Boccaccio.  Oh,  get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  !  you  little 
rogue  you  !  Francesco,  I  feel  quite  well.  Your  kindness  to  my 

i  Query:  How  much  of  Lucretius  (or  Petronius  or  Catullus,  before 
cited)  was  then  known  ?  —  Remark  by  Monsignore. 


IO6  THE    PENTAMERON. 

playful  creatures  in  the  "  Decameron"  has  revived  me,  and  has 
put  me  into  good  humor  with  the  greater  part  of  them.  Are 
you  quite  certain  the  Madonna  will  not  expect  me  to  keep  my 
promise  ?  You  said  you  were  ;  I  need  not  ask  you  again.  I  will 
accept  the  whole  of  your  assurances,  and  half  your  praises. 

Petrarca.  To  represent  so  vast  a  variety  of  personages  so 
characteristically  as  you  have  done,  to  give  the  wise  all  their 
wisdom,  the  witty  all  their  wit,  and  (what  is  harder  to  do 
advantageously)  the  simple  all  their  simplicity,  requires  a 
genius  such  as  you  alone  possess.  Those  who  doubt  it  are 
the  least  dangerous  of  your  rivals. 


FIFTH   DAY'S   INTERVIEW. 

IT  being  now  the  last  morning  that  Petrarca  could  remain 
with  his  friend,  he  resolved  to  pass  early  into  his  bed-chamber. 
Boccaccio  had  risen,  and  was  standing  at  the  open  window, 
with  his  arms  against  it.  Renovated  health  sparkled  in  the 
eyes  of  the  one ;  surprise  and  delight  and  thankfulness  to 
Heaven  filled  the  other's  with  sudden  tears.  He  clasped 
Giovanni,  kissed  his  flaccid  and  sallow  cheek,  and  falling  on 
his  knees,  adored  the  Giver  of  life,  the  source  of  health  to  body 
and  soul.  Giovanni  was  not  unmoved ;  he  bent  one  knee  as 
he  leaned  on  the  shoulder  of  Francesco,  looking  down  into  his 
face,  repeating  his  words,  and  adding,  — 

"  Blessed  be  thou,  O  Lord  !  who  sendest  me  health  again  ! 
and  blessings  on  thy  messenger  who  brought  it !  " 

He  had  slept  soundly ;  for  ere  he  closed  his  eyes  he  had 
unburdened  his  mind  of  its  freight,  not  only  by  employing  the 
prayers  appointed  by  Holy  Church,  but  likewise  by  ejaculating  ; 
as  sundry  of  the  Fathers  did  of  old.  He  acknowledged  his 
contrition  for  many  transgressions,  and  chiefly  for  uncharitable 
thoughts  of  Fra  Biagio ;  on  which  occasion  he  turned  fairly 
round  on  his  couch,  and  leaning  his  brow  against  the  wall,  and 
his  body  being  in  a  becomingly  curved  position,  and  proper 
for  the  purpose,  he  thus  ejaculated,  — 

"  Thou   knowest,   O  most    Holy  Virgin  !    that   never  have 


THE    PENTAMERON.  IQJ 

I  spoken  to  handmaiden  at  this  villetta,  or  within  my  mansion 
at  Certaldo,  wantonly  or  indiscreetly,  but  have  always  been, 
inasmuch  as  may  be,  the  guardian  of  innocence ;  deeming  it 
better,  when  irregular  thoughts  assailed  me,  to  ventilate  them 
abroad  than  to  poison  the  house  with  them.  And  if,  sinner  as 
I  am,  I  have  thought  uncharitably  of  others,  and  more  es- 
pecially of  Fra  Biagio,  pardon  me,  out  of  thy  exceeding  great 
mercies  !  And  let  it  not  be  imputed  to  me,  if  I  have  kept, 
and  may  keep  hereafter,  an  eye  over  him,  in  wariness  and 
watchfulness  ;  not  otherwise.  For  thou  knowest,  O  Madonna  ! 
that  many  who  have  a  perfect  and  unwavering  faith  in  thee,  yet 
do  cover  up  their  cheese  from  the  nibblings  of  vermin." 

Whereupon,  he  turned  round  again,  threw  himself  on  his 
back  at  full  length,  and  feeling  the  sheets  cool,  smooth,  and 
refreshing,  folded  his  arms  and  slept  instantaneously.  The 
consequence  of  his  wholesome  slumber  was  a  calm  alacrity ; 
and  the  idea  that  his  visitor  would  be  happy  at  seeing  him  on 
his  feet  again  made  him  attempt  to  get  up  :  at  which  he  suc- 
ceeded, to  his  own  wonder,  —  it  being  increased  by  the  mani- 
festation of  his  strength  in  opening  the  casement,  stiff  from 
being  closed,  and  swelled  by  the  continuance  of  the  rains.  The 
morning  was  warm  and  sunny ;  and  it  is  known  that  on  this  oc- 
casion he  composed  the  verses  below  :  — 

My  old  familiar  cottage  green  ! 

I  see  once  more  thy  pleasant  sheen, 

The  gossamer  suspended  over 

Smart  celandine  by  lusty  clover, 

And  the  last  blossom  of  the  plum 

Inviting  her  first  leaves  to  come, — 

Which  hang  a  little  back,  but  show 

'T  is  not  their  nature  to  say  no. 

I  scarcely  am  in  voice  to  sing 

How  graceful  are  the  steps  of  Spring ; 

And,  ah !  it  makes  me  sigh  to  look 

How  leaps  along  my  merry  brook, 

The  very  same  to-day  as  when 

He  chirrupped  first  to  maids  and  men. 

Petrarca.  I  can  rejoice  at  the  freshness  of  your  feelings ; 
but  the  sight  of  the  green  turf  reminds  me  rather  of  its  ultimate 
use  and  destination,  — 

For  many  serves  the  parish  pall, 
The  turf  in  common  serves  for  all. 


IO8  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.  Very  true  ;  and  such  being  the  case,  let  us  care- 
fully fold  it  up  and  lay  it  by  until  we  call  for  it. 

Francesco,  you  made  me  quite  light-headed  yesterday.  I  am 
rather  too  old  to  dance  either  with  Spring,  as  I  have  been  saying, 
or  with  Vanity ;  and  yet  I  accepted  her  at  your  hand  as  a  part- 
ner. In  future,  no  more  of  comparisons  for  me  !  You  not  only 
can  do  me  no  good,  but  you  can  leave  me  no  pleasure  ;  for  here 
I  shall  remain  the  few  days  I  have  to  live,  and  shall  see  nobody 
who  will  be  disposed  to  remind  me  of  your  praises.  Besides, 
you  yourself  will  get  hated  for  them.  We  neither  can  deserve 
praise  nor  receive  it  with  impunity. 

Petrarca.  Have  you  never  remarked  that  it  is  into  quiet 
water  that  children  throw  pebbles  to  disturb  it ;  and  that  it  is 
into  deep  caverns  that  the  idle  drop  sticks  and  dirt?  We  must 
expect  such  treatment. 

Boccaccio.  Your  admonition  shall  have  its  wholesome  in- 
fluence over  me,  when  the  fever  your  praises  have  excited  has 
grown  moderate. 

—  After  the  conversation  on  this  topic  and  various  others 
had  continued  some  time,  it  was  interrupted  by  a  visitor.  The 
clergy  and  monkery  at  Certaldo  had  never  been  cordial  with 
Messer  Giovanni,  it  being  suspected  that  certain  of  his  Novelle 
were  modelled  on  originals  in  their  orders.  Hence,  although 
they  indeed  both  professed  and  felt  esteem  for  Canonico  Pe- 
trarca, they  abstained  from  expressing  it  at  the  villetta.  But 
Frate  Biagio  of  San  Vivaldo  was  (by  his  own  appointment) 
the  friend  of  the  house ;  and  being  considered  as  very  expert 
in  pharmacy,  had  day  after  day  brought  over  no  indifferent  store 
of  simples,  in  ptisans  and  other  refections,  during  the  continuance 
of  Ser  Giovanni's  ailment.  Something  now  moved  him  to  cast 
about  in  his  mind  whether  it  might  not  appear  dutiful  to  make 
another  visit.  Perhaps  he  thought  it  possible  that  among  those 
who  peradventure  had  seen  him  lately  on  the  road,  one  or  other 
might  expect  from  him  a  solution  of  the  questions,  What  sort 
of  person  was  the  crowned  martyr ;  whether  he  carried  a  palm 
in  his  hand ;  whether  a  seam  was  visible  across  the  throat ; 
whether  he  wore  a  ring  over  his  glove,  with  a  chrysolite  in  it, 
like  the  bishops,  but  representing  the  city  of  Jerusalem  and  the 
judgment-seat  of  Pontius  Pilate  ?  Such  were  the  reports  ;  but 
the  inhabitants  of  San  Vivaldo  could  not  believe  the  Certaldese, 


THE    PENTAMERON.  IOQ 

who,  inhabiting  the  next  township  to  them,  were  naturally  their 
enemies.  Yet  they  might  believe  Frate  Biagio,  and  certainly 
would  interrogate  him  accordingly.  He  formed  his  determi- 
nation, put  his  frock  and  hood  on,  and  gave  a  curvature  to  his 
shoe,  to  evince  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  by  pushing  the  ex- 
tremity of  it  with  his  breast-bone  against  the  corner  of  his  cell. 
Studious  of  his  figure  and  of  his  attire,  he  walked  as  much  as 
possible  on  his  heels,  to  keep  up  the  reformation  he  had  wrought 
in  the  workmanship  of  the  cordwainer.  On  former  occasions  he 
had  borrowed  a  horse,  as  being  wanted  to  hear  confession  or  to 
carry  medicines,  which  might  otherwise  be  too  late.  But  having 
put  on  an  entirely  new  habiliment,  and  it  being  the  season  when 
horses  are  beginning  to  do  the  same,  he  deemed  it  prudent  to 
travel  on  foot.  Approaching  the  villetta,  his  first  intention  was 
to  walk  directly  into  his  patient's  room  ;  but  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  resist  the  impulses  of  pride  in  showing  Assunta  his  rigid 
and  stately  frock,  with  shoes  rather  of  the  equestrian  order  than 
the  monastic.  So  he  went  into  the  kitchen  where  the  girl  was 
at  work,  having  just  taken  away  the  remains  of  the  breakfast. 

"Frate  Biagio  !  "  cried  she,  "  is  this  you?  Have  you  been 
sleeping  at  Conte  Jeronimo's?" 

"  Not  I,"  replied  he. 

"  Why  !  "  said  she,  "  those  are  surely  his  shoes  !  Santa 
Maria  !  you  must  have  put  them  on  in  the  dusk  of  the  morn- 
ing, to  say  your  prayers  in  !  Here,  here  !  take  these  old  ones 
of  Signor  Padrone,  for  the  love  of  God  !  I  hope  your  rev- 
erence met  nobody." 

Frate.     What  dost  smile  at? 

Assunta.  Smile  at !  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  laugh  out- 
right, if  I  only  were  certain  that  nobody  had  seen  your  rev- 
erence in  such  a  funny  trim.  Riverenza,  put  on  these. 

Frate.     Not  I,  indeed. 

Assunta.     Allow  me,  then? 

Frate.     No,  nor  you. 

Assunta.  Then  let  me  stand  upon  yours,  to  push  down  the 
points. 

Frate  Biagio  now  began  to  relent  a  little,  when  Assunta,  who 
had  made  one  step  toward  the  project,  bethought  herself  sud- 
denly, and  said,  "  No  ;  I  might  miss  my  footing.  But,  mercy 
upon  us  !  what  made  you  cramp  your  reverence  with  those 


HO  THE    PENTAMERON. 

ox-yoke  shoes,  and  strangle  your  reverence  with  that  hang- dog 
collar?" 

"  If  you  must  know,"  answered  the  Frate,  reddening,  "  it  was 
because  I  am  making  a  visit  to  the  Canonico  of  Parma.  I 
should  like  to  know  something  about  him  :  perhaps  you  could 
tell  me?" 

Assunta.     Ever  so  much. 

Frate.  I  thought  no  less ;  indeed,  I  knew  it.  Which  goes 
to  bed  first? 

Assunta.     Both  together. 

Frate.     Demonio  !  what  dost  mean  ? 

Assunta.  He  tells  me  never  to  sit  up  waiting,  but  to  say 
my  prayers  and  dream  of  the  Virgin. 

Frate.  As  if  it  were  any  business  of  his  !  Does  he  put  out 
his  lamp  himself  ? 

Assunta.  To  be  sure  he  does  :  why  should  not  he  ?  What 
should  he  be  afraid  of  ?  It  is  not  winter ;  and  besides,  there 
is  a  mat  upon  the  floor,  all  around  the  bed,  excepting  the  top 
and  bottom. 

Frate.  I  am  quite  convinced  he  never  said  anything  to 
make  you  blush.  Why  are  you  silent  ? 

Assunta.     I  have  a  right. 

Frate.  He  did  then  —  ay?  Do  not  nod  your  head;  that 
will  never  do.  Discreet  girls  speak  plainly. 

Assunta.     What  would  you  have  ? 

Frate.     The  truth  !  the  truth  !  again,  I  say  the  truth  ! 

Assunta.     He  did  then. 

Frate.     I  knew  it !     The  most  dangerous  man  living  ! 

Assunta.     Ah  !  indeed  he  is  !     Signor  Padrone  said  so. 

Frate.     He  knows  him  of  old  :  he  warned  you,  it  seems. 

Assunta.     Me  !    He  never  said  it  was  I  who  was  in  danger. 

Frate.     He  might :  it  was  his  duty. 

Assunta.  Am  I  so  fat  ?  Lord  !  you  may  feel  every  rib. 
Girls  who  run  about  as  I  do  slip  away  from  apoplexy. 

Frate.     Ho  !  ho  !  that  is  all,  is  it? 

Assunta.  And  bad  enough  too  !  that  such  good-natured 
men  should  ever  grow  so  bulky,  and  stand  in  danger,  as  Pa- 
drone said  they  both  do,  of  such  a  seizure  ! 

Frate.  What !  and  art  ready  to  cry  about  it  ?  Old  folks 
cannot  die  easier ;  and  there  are  always  plenty  of  younger  to 


THE    PENTAMERON.  Ill 

run  quick  enough  for  a  confessor.  But  I  must  not  trifle  in  this 
manner.  It  is  my  duty  to  set  your  feet  in  the  right  way ;  it  is 
my  bounden  duty  to  report  to  Ser  Giovanni  all  irregularities  I 
know  of,  committed  in  his  domicile.  I  could  indeed,  and 
would,  remit  a  trifle,  on  hearing  the  worst.  Tell  me  now,  As- 
sunta  !  tell  me,  you  little  angel !  did  you  —  we  all  may,  the 
very  best  of  us  may,  and  do  —  sin,  my  sweet  ? 

Assunta.  You  may  be  sure  I  do  not ;  for  whenever  I  sin  I 
run  into  church  directly,  although  it  snows  or  thunders :  else  I 
never  could  see  again  Padrone's  face,  or  any  one's. 

Prate.     You  do  not  come  to  me. 

Assunta.     You  live  at  San  Vivaldo. 

Frate.  But  when  there  is  sin  so  pressing  I  am  always 
ready  to  be  found.  You  perplex,  you  puzzle  me.  Tell  me  at 
once  how  he  made  you  blush. 

Assunta.     Well,  then  ! 

Frate.  Well,  then  !  you  did  not  hang  back  so  before  him. 
I  lose  all  patience. 

Assunta.     So  famous  a  man  — 

Frate.     No  excuse  in  that. 

Assunta.     So  dear  to  Padrone  — 

Frate.     The  more  shame  for  him  ! 

Assunta.     Called  me  — 

Frate.     And  called  you,  did  he  ?  the  traitorous  swine  ! 

Assunta.     Called  me — good  girt. 

Frate.  Psha  !  the  wenches,  I  think,  are  all  mad  :  but  few 
of  them  in  this  manner. 

Without  saying  another  word,  Fra  Biagio  went  forward  and 
opened  the  bed-chamber  door,  saying  briskly,  "  Servant,  Ser 
Giovanni !  Ser  Canonico !  most  devoted,  most  obsequious ! 
I  venture  to  incommode  you.  Thanks  to  God,  Ser  Canonico, 
you  are  looking  well  for  your  years.  They  tell  me  you  were 
formerly  (who  would  believe  it !)  the  handsomest  man  in 
Christendom,  and  worked  your  way  glibly  yonder  at  Avignon. 

"  Capperi,  Ser  Giovanni !  I  never  observed  that  you  were 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  that  long-backed  arm-chair,  instead  of 
lying  abed.  Quite  in  the  right.  I  am  rejoiced  at  such  a 
change  for  the  better.  Who  advised  it?" 

Boccaccio.     So  many  thanks  to  Fra  Biagio  !     I  not  only  am 


112  THE    PENTAMERON. 

sitting  up,  but  have  taken  a  draught  of  fresh  air  at  the  window, 
and  every  leaf  had  a  little  present  of  sunshine  for  me. 

There  is  one  pleasure,  Fra  Biagio,  which  I  fancy  you  never 
have  experienced,  and  I  hardly  know  whether  I  ought  to  wish  it 
you,  —  the  first  sensation  of  health  after  a  long  confinement. 

Frate.  Thanks,  infinite  !  I  would  take  any  man's  word  for 
that,  without  a  wish  to  try  it.  Everybody  tells  me  I  am  ex- 
actly what  I  was  a  dozen  years  ago,  while  for  my  part  I  see 
everybody  changed ;  those  who  ought  to  be  much  about  my 
age,  even  those  —  Per  Bacco  !  I  told  them  my  thoughts  when 
they  had  told  me  theirs ;  and  they  were  not  so  agreeable  as 
they  used  to  be  in  former  days. 

Boccaccio.     How  people  hate  sincerity  ! 

Cospetto  !  why,  Frate,  what  hast  got  upon  thy  toes  ?  Hast 
killed  some  Tartar  and  tucked  his  bow  into  one,  and  torn  the 
crescent  from  the  vizier's  tent  to  make  the  other  match  it? 
Hadst  thou  fallen  in  thy  mettlesome  expedition  (and  it  is  a 
mercy  and  a  miracle  thou  didst  not !)  those  sacrilegious  shoes 
would  have  impaled  thee. 

Frate.  It  was  a  mistake  in  the  shoemaker.  But  no  pain  or 
incommodity  whatsoever  could  detain  me  from  paying  my  duty 
to  Ser  Canonico  the  first  moment  I  heard  of  his  auspicious 
arrival,  or  from  offering  my  congratulations  to  Ser  Giovanni, 
on  the  annunciation  that  he  was  recovered  and  looking  out  of 
the  window.  All  Tuscany  was  standing  on  the  watch  for  it, 
and  the  news  flew  like  lightning.  By  this  time  it  is  upon  the 
Danube. 

And  pray,  Ser  Canonico,  how  does  Madonna  Laura  do  ? 

Petrarca.     Peace  to  her  gentle  spirit !  she  is  departed. 

Frate.  Ay,  true.  I  had  quite  forgotten ;  that  is  to  say, 
I  recollect  it.  You  told  us  as  much,  I  think,  in  a  poem  on  her 
death.  Well,  and  do  you  know,  our  friend  Giovanni  here  is 
a  bit  of  an  author  in  his  way. 

Boccaccio.     Frate,  you  confuse  my  modesty  ! 

Frate.  Murder  will  out.  It  is  a  fact,  on  my  conscience. 
Have  you  never  heard  anything  about  it,  Canonico  ?  Ha  !  we 
poets  are  sly  fellows ;  we  can  keep  a  secret. 

Boccaccio.    .Are  you  quite  sure  you  can? 

Frate.  Try,  and  trust  me  with  any.  I  am  a  confessional 
on  legs ;  there  is  no  more  a  whisper  in  me  than  in  a  woolsack. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  113 

I  am  in  feather  again  as  you  see ;  and  in  tune,  as  you  shall 
hear.     April  is  not  the  month  for  moping.     Sing  it  lustily  ! 

Boccaccio.     Let  it  be  your  business  to  sing  it,  being  a  Frate  ; 
I  can  only  recite  it. 
Frate.     Pray  do,  then. 
Boccaccio. 

Frate  Biagio  !  sempre  quando 

Qua  tu  vieni  cavalcando, 

Pensi  che  le  buone  strade 

Per  il  mondo  sien  ben  rade ; 

E,  di  quante  sono  brutte, 

La  piii  brutta  e  tua  di  tutte. 

Badi,  non  cascare  sulle 

Graziosissime  fanciulle, 

Che  con  capo  dritto,  alzato, 

Uova  portano  al  mercato. 

Pessima  mi  pare  1'opra 

Rovesciarle  sottosopra. 

Deh  !  scansando  le  erte  e  sassi, 

Sempre  con  premura  passi. 

Caro  amico  !  Frate  Biagio  ! 

Passi  pur,  ma  passi  adagio.1 

Frate.  Well  now,  really,  Canonico,  for  one  not  exactly  one 
of  us,  that  canzone  of  Ser  Giovanni  has  merit ;  has  not  it  ?  I 
did  not  ride,  however,  to-day,  as  you  may  see  by  the  lining  of 
my  frock.  But  plus  non  vitiat,  —  ay,  Canonico  ?  About  the 
roads  he  is  right  enough  ;  they  are  the  Devil's  own  roads  ;  that 
must  be  said  for  them. 

Ser  Giovanni,  with  permission :  your  mention  of  eggs  in 
the  canzone  has  induced  me  to  fancy  I  could  eat  a  pair  of 
them.  The  hens  lay  well  now :  that  white  one  of  yours  is 
worth  more  than  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden;  and  you 

1  Avendo  io  fatto  comparire  nel  nostro  idioma  toscano,  e  senza  tra- 
duzione,  i  leggiadri  versi  sopra  stampati,  chiedo  perdono  da  chi  legge. 
Non  potei,  badando  con  dovuta  premura  ai  miei  interessi  ed  a  quelli  del 
proposito  mio,  non  potei,  dico,  far  di  meno ;  stanteche  una  riunione 
de'critici,  i  piu  vistosi  del  Regno  unito  d'Inghilterra  ed  Irlanda,  avra  con 
unanimita  dichiarato,  che  nessuno,  di  quanti  esistono  i  mortali,  sapra  mai 
indovinare  la  versione.  Stimo  assai  il  tradduttore  ;  lavora  per  poco,  e 
agevolmente ;  mi  pare  piutosto  galantuomo ;  non  c' e  male;  ma  poeta 
poco  felice  poi.  Parlano  que'  Signori  critici  riveritissimi  di  certi  poemetti 
e  frammenti  gia  da  noi  ammessi  in  questo  volume,  ed  anche  di  altri  del 
medesimo  autore  forse  originali,  e  restano  di  avviso  commune,  che  non  vi 
sia  neppure  una  sola  parola  veramente  da  intendersi ;  che  il  senso  (chi  sa?) 
sara  di  nteisimo,  ovvero  di  alto  tradiniento.  Che  questo  non  lo  sia,  ne  palse- 
samente  ne  occultamente,  fermo  col  proprio  pugno.  —  Domenico  Grigi. 


114  THE    PENTAMERON. 

have  a  store  of  others,  her  equals  or  betters.  We  have  none 
like  them  at  poor  San  Vivaldo.  A  rivederci,  Ser  Giovanni ! 
Schiavo,  Ser  Canonico  !  mi  commandino. 

Fra  Biagio  went  back  into  the  kitchen,  helped  himself  to  a 
quarter  of  a  loaf,  ordered  a  flask  of  wine,  and  trying  several 
eggs  against  his  lips,  selected  seven,  which  he  himself  fried 
in  oil,  although  the  maid  offered  her  services.  He  never  had 
been  so  little  disposed  to  enter  into  conversation  with  her ;  and 
on  her  asking  him  how  he  found  her  master,  he  replied  that 
in  bodily  health  Ser  Giovanni,  by  his  prayers  and  ptisans,  had 
much  improved,  but  that  his  faculties  were  wearing  out  apace. 
"  He  may  now  run  in  the  same  couples  with  the  canonico  ;  they 
cannot  catch  the  mange  one  of  the  other ;  the  one  could  say 
nothing  to  the  purpose,  and  the  other  nothing  at  all.  The 
whole  conversation  was  entirely  at  my  charge,"  added  he. 
"And  now,  Assunta,  since  you  press  it,  I  will  accept  the  ser- 
vice of  your  master's  shoes.  How  I  shall  ever  get  home  I  don't 
know."  He  took  the  shoes  off  the  handles  of  the  bellows,  where 
Assunta  had  placed  them  out  of  her  way,  and  tucking  one  of 
his  own  under  each  arm,  limped  toward  San  Vivaldo. 

The  unwonted  attention  to  smartness  of  apparel  in  the  only 
article  wherein  it  could  be  displayed,  was  suggested  to  Frate 
Biagio  by  hearing  that  Ser  Francesco,  accustomed  to  courtly 
habits  and  elegant  society,  and  having  not  only  small  hands 
but  small  feet,  usually  wore  red  slippers  in  the  morning.  Fra 
Biagio  had  scarcely  left  the  outer  door  than  he  cordially  cursed 
Ser  Francesco  for  making  such  a  fool  of  him,  and  for  wearing 
slippers  of  black  list.  "  These  canonicoes,"  said  he,  "  not  only 
lie  themselves,  but  teach  everybody  else  to  do  the  same.  He 
has  lamed  me  fpr  life  ;  I  burn  as  if  I  had  been  shod  at  the 
blacksmith's  forge." 

The  two  friends  said  nothing  about  him,  but  continued  the 
discourse  which  his  visit  had  interrupted. 

Petrarca.  Turn  again,  I  entreat  you,  to  the  serious ;  and 
do  not  imagine  that  because  by  nature  you  are  inclined  to 
playfulness  you  must  therefore  write  ludicrous  things  better. 
Many  of  your  stories  would  make  the  gravest  men  laugh,  and 
yet  there  is  little  wit  in  them. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  1 15 

Boccaccio.  I  think  so  myself;  though  authors,  little  dis- 
posed as  they  are  to  doubt  their  possession  of  any  quality  they 
would  bring  into  play,  are  least  of  all  suspicious  on  the  side  of 
wit.  You  have  convinced  me.  I  am  glad  to  have  been  ten- 
der, and  to  have  written  tenderly,  for  I  am  certain  it  is  this 
alone  that  has  made  you  love  me  with  such  affection. 

Petrarca.  Not  this  alone,  Giovanni ;  but  this  principally. 
I  have  always  found  you  kind  and  compassionate,  liberal  and 
sincere ;  and  when  Fortune  does  not  stand  very  close  to  such  a 
man,  she  leaves  only  the  more  room  for  Friendship. 

Boccaccio.  Let  her  stand  off  then,  now  and  forever  !  To 
my  heart,  to  my  heart,  Francesco  !  preserver  of  my  health,  my 
peace  of  mind,  and  (since  you  tell  me  I  may  claim  it)  my 
glory. 

Petrarca.  Recovering  your  strength,  you  must  pursue  your 
studies  to  complete  it.  What  can  you  have  been  doing  with 
your  books?  I  have  searched  in  vain  this  morning  for  the 
treasury.  Where  are  they  kept  ?  Formerly  they  were  always 
open.  I  found  only  a  short  manuscript,  which  I  suspect  is 
poetry ;  but  I  ventured  not  on  looking  into  it  until  I  had 
brought  it  with  me  and  laid  it  before  you. 

Boccaccio.  Well  guessed  !  They  are  verses  written  by  a 
gentleman  who  resided  long  in  this  country,  and  who  much  re- 
gretted the  necessity  of  leaving  it.  He  took  great  delight  in 
composing  both  Latin  and  Italian,  but  never  kept  a  copy  of 
them  latterly,  so  that  these  are  the  only  ones  I  could  obtain 
from  him.  Read,  for  your  voice  will  improve  them  :  — 

TO    MY   CHILD   CARLINO. 

Carlino,  what  art  thou  about,  my  boy? 

Often  I  ask  that  question,  though  in  vain, 

For  we  are  far  apart.    Ah  !  therefore  'tis 

I  often  ask  it ;  not  in  such  a  tone 

As  wiser  fathers  do,  who  know  too  well. 

Were  we  not  children,  you  and  I  together  ? 

Stole  we  not  glances  from  each  other's  eyes  ? 

Swore  we  not  secrecy  in  such  misdeeds  ? 

Well  could  we  trust  each  other.     Tell  me  then 

What  thou  art  doing.     Carving  out  thy  name, 

Or  haply  mine,  upon  my  favorite  seat, 

With  the  new  knife  I  sent  thee  over  sea  ? 

Or  hast  thou  broken  it,  and  hid  the  hilt 

Among  the  myrtles,  starred  with  flowers,  behind  ? 


Il6  THE   PENTAMERON. 

Or  under  that  high  throne  whence  fifty  lilies 
(With  sworded  tuberoses  dense  around) 
Lift  up  their  heads  at  once,  not  without  fear 
That  they  were  looking  at  thee  all  the  while  ? 

Does  Cincirillo  follow  thee  about  ? 
Inverting  one  swart  foot  suspensively, 
And  wagging  his  dread  jaw  at  every  chirp 
Of  bird  above  him  on  the  olive-branch  ? 
Frighten  him  then  away  !  't  was  he  who  slew 
Our  pigeons,  our  white  pigeons  peacock-tailed, 
That  feared  not  you  and  me  —  alas,  nor  him ! 
I  flattened  his  striped  sides  along  my  knee, 
And  reasoned  with  him  on  his  bloody  mind, 
Till  he  looked  blandly,  and  half  closed  his  eyes 
To  ponder  on  my  lecture  in  the  shade. 
I  doubt  his  memory  much,  his  heart  a  little, 
And  in  some  minor  matters  (may  I  say  it?) 
Could  wish  him  rather  sager.     But  from  thee 
God  hold  back  wisdom  yet  for  many  years  ! 
Whether  in  early  season  or  in  late, 
It  always  comes  high-priced.     For  thy  pure  breast 
I  have  no  lesson  :  it  for  me  has  many. 
Come  throw  it  open  then !     What  sports,  what  cares 
(Since  there  are  none  too  young  for  these)  engage 
Thy  busy  thoughts'  ?     Are  you  again  at  work, 
Walter  and  you,  with  those  sly  laborers 
Geppo,  Giovanni,  Cecco,  and  Poeta, 
To  build  more  solidly  your  broken  dam 
Among  the  poplars,  whence  the  nightingale 
Inquisitively  watched  you  all  day  long? 
I  was  not  of  your  council  in  the  scheme, 
Or  might  have  saved  you  silver  without  end, 
And  sighs,  too,  without  number.     Art  thou  gone 
Below  the  mulberry,  where  that  cold  pool 
Urged  to  devise  a  warmer,  and  more  fit 
For  mighty  swimmers,  swimming  three  abreast? 
Or  art  thou  panting  in  this  summer  noon 
Upon  the  lowest  step  before  the  hall, 
Drawing  a  slice  of  watermelon,  long 
As  Cupid's  bow,  athwart  thy  wetted  lips 
(Like  one  who  plays  Pan's  pipe),  and  letting  drop 
The  sable  seeds  from  all  their  separate  cells, 
And  leaving  bays  profound  and  rocks  abrupt, 
Redder  than  coral  round  Calypso's  cave  ? 

Petrarca.  There  have  been  those  anciently  who  would  have 
been  pleased  with  such  poetry;  and  perhaps  there  may  be 
again.  I  am  not  sorry  to  see  the  Muses  by  the  side  of  child- 
hood, and  forming  a  part  of  the  family.  But  now  tell  me  about 
the  books. 


THE    PENTAMERON.  I  17 

Boccaccio.  Resolving  to  lay  aside  the  more  valuable  of  those  I 
had  collected  or  transcribed,  and  to  place  them  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  richer  men,  I  locked  them  up  together  in  the  higher 
story  of  my  tower  at  Certaldo.  You  remember  the  old  tower? 

Petrarca.  Well  do  I  remember  the  hearty  laugh  we  had 
together  (which  stopped  us  upon  the  staircase)  at  the  calcula- 
tion we  made  how  much  longer  you  and  I,  if  we  continued  to 
thrive  as  we  had  thriven  latterly,  should  be  able  to  pass  within 
its  narrow  circle.  Although  I  like  this  little  villa  much  better, 
I  would  gladly  see  the  place  again,  and  enjoy  with  you,  as  we 
did  before,  the  vast  expanse  of  woodlands  and  mountains  and 
maremma,  frowning  fortresses  inexpugnable,  and  others  more 
prodigious  for  their  ruins ;  then  below  them  lordly  abbeys, 
over- canopied  with  stately  trees,  and  girded  with  rich  luxuri- 
ance ;  and  towns  that  seem  approaching  them  to  do  them 
honor,  and  villages  nestling  close  at  their  sides  for  sustenance 
and  protection. 

Boccaccio.  My  disorder,  if  it  should  keep  its  promise  of 
leaving  me  at  last,  will  have  been  preparing  me  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  such  a  project.  Should  I  get  thinner  and  thinner 
at  this  rate,  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  mount  not  only  a  turret  or  a 
belfry,  but  a  tube  of  macaroni,1  while  a  Neapolitan  is  suspend- 
ing it  for  deglutition. 

What  I  am  about  to  mention,  will  show  you  how  little  you 
can  rely  on  me  !  I  have  preserved  the  books,  as  you  desired, 
but  quite  contrary  to  my  resolution ;  and  no  less  contrary  to  it, 
by  your  desire  I  shall  now  preserve  the  "  Decameron."  In  vain 
had  I  determined  not  only  to  mend  in  future,  but  to  correct 
the  past ;  in  vain  had  I  prayed  most  fervently  for  grace  to  ac- 
complish it,  with  a  final  aspiration  to  Fiametta  that  she  would 
unite  with  your  beloved  Laura,  and  that,  gentle  and  beatified 
spirits  as  they  are,  they  would  breathe  together  their  purer 
prayers  on  mine.  See  what  follows. 

Petrarca.  Sigh  not  at  it.  Before  we  can  see  all  that  follows 
from  their  intercession,  we  must  join  them  again.  But  let  me 
hear  anything  in  which  they  are  concerned. 

1  This  is  valuable,  since  it  shows  that  macaroni  (here  called  pasta]  was 
invented  in  the  time  of  Boccaccio ;  so  are  the  letters  of  Petrarca,  which 
inform  us  equally  in  regard  to  spectacles :  "  Ad  ocularium  [occhiali]  mihi 
confugiendum  esset  auxilium."  —  Domenico  Grigi. 


Il8  THE    PENTAMERON. 

Boccaccio.  I  prayed  ;  and  my  breast,  after  some  few  tears, 
grew  calmer.  Yet  sleep  did  not  ensue  until  the  break  of 
morning,  when  the  dropping  of  soft  rain  on  the  leaves  of  the 
fig-tree  at  the  window,  and  the  chirping  of  a  little  bird  to  tell 
another  there  was  shelter  under  them,  brought  me  repose  and 
slumber.  Scarcely  had  I  closed  my  eyes,  if  indeed  time  can  be 
reckoned  any  more  in  sleep  than  in  heaven,  when  my  Fiametta 
seemed  to  have  led  me  into  the  meadow.  You  will  see  it  below 
you  :  turn  away  that  branch,  —  gently  !  gently  !  do  not  break 
it,  for  the  little  bird  sat  there. 

Petrarca.  I  think,  Giovanni,  I  can  divine  the  place.  Al- 
though this  fig-tree  growing  out  of  the  wall  between  the  cellar 
and  us  is  fantastic  enough  in  its  branches,  yet  that  other  which 
I  see  yonder,  bent  down  and  forced  to  crawl  along  the  grass  by 
the  prepotency  of  the  young  shapely  walnut-tree,  is  much  more 
so.  It  forms  a  seat  about  a  cubit  above  the  ground,  level  and 
long  enough  for  several. 

Boccaccio.  Ha  !  you  fancy  it  must  be  a  favorite  spot  with 
me,  because  of  the  two  strong  forked  stakes  wherewith  it  is 
propped  and  supported  ! 

Petrarca.  Poets  know  the  haunts  of  poets  at  first  sight ;  and 
he  who  loved  Laura  —  O  Laura  !  did  I  say  he  who  loved  thee  ? 
—  hath  whisperings  where  those  feet  would  wander  which  have 
been  restless  after  Fiametta. 

Boccaccio.  It  is  true,  my  imagination  has  often  conducted 
her  thither ;  but  here  in  this  chamber  she  appeared  to  me  more 
visibly  in  a  dream. 

"  Thy  prayers  have  been  heard,  O  Giovanni,"  said  she. 

I  sprang  to  embrace  her. 

"  Do  not  spill  the  water  !     Ah  !  you  have  spilt  a  part  of  it." 

I  then  observed  in  her  hand  a  crystal  vase.  A  few  drops 
were  sparkling  on  the  sides  and  running  down  the  rim ;  a  few 
were  trickling  from  the  base  and  from  the  hand  that  held  it. 

"  I  must  go  down  to  the  brook,"  said  she,  "  and  fill  it  again 
as  it  was  filled  before." 

What  a  moment  of  agony  was  this  to  me  !  Could  I  be  certain 
how  long  might  be  her  absence  ?  She  went ;  I  was  following  : 
she  made  a  sign  for  me  to  turn  back.  I  disobeyed  her  only  an 
instant ;  yet  my  sense  of  disobedience,  increasing  my  feeble- 
ness and  confusion,  made  me  lose  sight  of  her.  In  the  next 


THE    PEXTAMERON.  1 19 

moment  she  was  again  at  my  side  with  the  cup  quite  full.  I 
stood  motionless :  I  feared  my  breath  might  shake  the  water 
over.  I  looked  her  in  the  face  for  her  commands,  and  to 
see  it,  —  to  see  it  so  calm,  so  beneficent,  so  beautiful.  I  was 
forgetting  what  I  had  prayed  for,  when  she  lowered  her  head, 
tasted  of  the  cup,  and  gave  it  me.  I  drank,  and  suddenly 
sprang  forth  before  me  many  groves  and  palaces  and  gardens, 
and  their  statues  and  their  avenues,  and  their  labyrinths  of 
alaternus  and  bay,  and  alcoves  of  citron  and  watchful  loopholes 
in  the  retirements  of  impenetrable  pomegranate.  Farther  off, 
just  below  where  the  fountain  slipped  away  from  its  marble  hall 
and  guardian  gods,  arose  from  their  beds  of  moss  and  drosera 
and  darkest  grass  the  sisterhood  of  oleanders,  fond  of  tantaliz- 
ing with  their  bosomed  flowers  and  their  moist  and  pouting 
blossoms  the  little  shy  rivulet,  and  of  covering  its  face  with  all 
the  colors  of  the  dawn.  My  dream  expanded  and  moved  for- 
ward. I  trod  again  the  dust  of  Posilipo,  soft  as  the  feathers  in 
the  wings  of  Sleep.  I  emerged  on  Baia ;  I  crossed  her  in- 
numerable arches ;  I  loitered  in  the  breezy  sunshine  of  her 
mole  ;  I  trusted  the  faithful  seclusion  of  her  caverns,  the  keepers 
of  so  many  secrets ;  and  I  reposed  on  the  buoyancy  of  her 
tepid  sea.  Then  Naples,  and  her  theatres  and  her  churches, 
her  grottoes  and  dells  and  forts  and  promontories,  rushed  for- 
ward in  confusion,  now  among  soft  whispers,  now  among 
sweetest  sounds,  and  subsided  and  sank  and  disappeared.  Yet 
a  memory  seemed  to  come  fresh  from  every  one ;  each  had 
time  enough  for  its  tale,  for  its  pleasure,  for  its  reflection,  for 
its  pang.  As  I  mounted  with  silent  steps  the  narrow  staircase 
of  the  old  palace,  how  distinctly  did  I  feel  against  the  palm  of 
my  hand  the  coldness  of  that  smooth  stone-work,  and  the 
greater  of  the  cramps  of  iron  in  it ! 

"Ah,  me  !  is  this  forgetting?  "  cried  I  anxiously  to  Fiametta. 

"  We  must  recall  these  scenes  before  us,"  she  replied ; 
"  such  is  the  punishment  of  them.  Let  us  hope  and  believe 
that  the  apparition  and  the  compunction  which  must  follow  it 
will  be  accepted  as  the  full  penalty,  and  that  both  will  pass 
away  almost  together." 

I  feared  to  lose  anything  attendant  on  her  presence;  I 
feared  to  approach  her  forehead  with  my  lips ;  I  feared  to 
touch  the  lily  on  its  long  wavy  leaf  in  her  hair,  which  filled  my 


I2O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

whole  heart  with  fragrance.  Venerating,  adoring,  I  bowed  my 
head  at  last  to  kiss  her  snow-white  robe,  and  trembled  at  my 
presumption.  And  yet  the  effulgence  of  her  countenance  viv- 
ified while  it  chastened  me.  I  loved  her — I  must  not  say 
more  than  ever  —  better  than  ever;  it  was  Fiametta  who  had 
inhabited  the  skies.  As  my  hand  opened  toward  her,  — 

"  Beware  !  "  said  she,  faintly  smiling ;  "  beware,  Giovanni ! 
Take  only  the  crystal ;  take  it  and  drink  again." 

"Must  all  be  then  forgotten?"  said  I,  sorrowfully. 

"  Remember  your  prayer  and  mine,  Giovanni  ?  Shall  both 
have  been  granted  —  oh  !  how  much  worse  than  in  vain?  " 

I  drank  instantly ;  I  drank  largely.  How  cool  my  bosom 
grew  !  —  how  could  it  grow  so  cool  before  her  ?  But  it  was  not 
to  remain  in  its  quiescency ;  its  trials  were  not  yet  over.  I 
will  not,  Francesco  !  no,  I  may  not  commemorate  the  incidents 
she  related  to  me,  nor  which  of  us  said,  "  I  blush  for  having 
loved  first ;  "  nor  which  of  us  replied,  "  Say  least,  say  least,  and 
blush  again  !  " 

The  charm  of  the  words  (for  I  felt  not  the  encumbrance  of 
the  body  nor  the  acuteness  of  the  spirit)  seemed  to  possess 
me  wholly.  Although  the  water  gave  me  strength  and  com- 
fort, and  somewhat  of  celestial  pleasure,  many  tears  fell  around 
the  border  of  the  vase  as  she  held  it  up  before  me,  exhorting 
me  to  take  courage,  and  inviting  me  with  more  than  exhorta- 
tion to  accomplish  my  deliverance.  She  came  nearer,  more 
tenderly,  more  earnestly ;  she  held  the  dewy  globe  with  both 
hands,  leaning  forward,  and  sighed  and  shook  her  head, 
drooping  at  my  pusillanimity.  It  was  only  when  a  ringlet 
had  touched  the  rim,  and  perhaps  the  water  (for  a  sunbeam 
on  the  surface  could  never  have  given  it  such  a  golden  hue), 
that  I  took  courage,  clasped  it,  and  exhausted  it.  Sweet  as 
was  the  water,  sweet  as  was  the  serenity  it  gave  me,  —  alas  ! 
that  also  which  it  moved  away  from  me  was  sweet ! 

"This  time  you  can  trust  me  alone,"  said  she,  and  parted 
my  hair,  and  kissed  my  brow.  Again  she  went  toward  the 
brook;  again  my  agitation,  my  weakness,  my  doubt,  came 
over  me ;  nor  could  I  see  her  while  she  raised  the  water,  nor 
knew  I  whence  she  drew  it.  When  she  returned,  she  was 
close  to  me  at  once.  She  smiled  :  her  smile  pierced  me  to  the 
bones ;  it  seemed  an  angel's.  She  sprinkled  the  pure  water 


THE    PENTAMERON.  121 

on  me ;  she  looked  most  fondly ;  she  took  my  hand  ;  she  suf- 
fered me  to  press  hers  to  my  bosom  :  but,  whether  by  design  I 
cannot  tell,  she  let  fall  a  few  drops  of  the  chilly  element  between. 

"  And  now,  O  my  beloved  !  "  said  she,  "  we  have  consigned 
to  the  bosom  of  God  our  earthly  joys  and  sorrows.  The  joys 
cannot  return,  —  let  not  the  sorrows.  These  alone  would 
trouble  my  repose  among  the  blessed." 

"  Trouble  thy  repose,  Fiametta  !  Give  me  the  chalice  !  " 
cried  I ;  "  not  a  drop  will  I  leave  in  it,  —  not  a  drop." 

"  Take  it ! "  said  that  soft  voice.  "  O  now  most  dear 
Giovanni,  I  know  thou  hast  strength  enough ;  and  there  is 
but  little  —  at  the  bottom  lies  our  first  kiss." 

"  Mine,  didst  thou  say,  beloved  one  ?  And  is  that  left  thee 
still?" 

" Mine"  said  she,  pensively ;  and  as  she  abased  her  head, 
the  broad  leaf  of  the  lily  hid  her  brow  and  her  eyes ;  the  light 
of  heaven  shone  through  the  flower. 

"  O  Fiametta  !  Fiametta  ! "  cried  I  in  agony,  "  God  is  the  God 
of  mercy  !  God  is  the  God  of  love  !  Can  I,  can  I  ever —  " 

I  struck  the  chalice  against  my  head,  unmindful  that  I  held 
it ;  the  water  covered  my  face  and  my  feet.  I  started  up,  not 
yet  awake,  and  I  heard  the  name  of  Fiametta  in  the  curtains. 

Petrarca.  Love,  O  Giovanni,  and  life  itself,  are  but  dreams 
at  best.  I  do  think 

Never  so  gloriously  was  Sleep  attended 
As  with  the  pageant  of  that  heavenly  maid. 

But  to  dwell  on  such  subjects  is  sinful.  The  recollection  of 
them,  with  all  their  vanities,  brings  tears  into  my  eyes. 

Boccaccio.  And  into  mine  too,  —  they  were  so  very 
charming. 

Petrarca.  Alas,  alas !  the  time  always  comes  when  we 
must  regret  the  enjoyments  of  our  youth. 

Boccaccio.     If  we  have  let  them  pass  us. 

Petrarca.     I  mean  our  indulgence  in  them. 

Boccaccio.  Francesco,  I  think  you  must  remember  Raffa- 
ellino  degli  Alfani. 

Petrarca.  Was  it  Raffaellino  who  lived  near  San  Michele  in 
Orto? 

Boccaccio.     The  same.     He  was  an  innocent  soul,  and  fond 


122  THE    PENTAMERON. 

of  fish.  But  whenever  his  friend  Sabbatelli  sent  him  a  trout 
from  Pratolino,  he  always  kept  it  until  next  day  or  the  day 
after,  just  long  enough  to  render  it  unpalatable.  He  then 
turned  it  over  in  the  platter,  smelt  at  it  closer,  although  the 
news  of  its  condition  came  undeniable  from  a  distance,  touched 
it  with  his  forefinger,  solicited  a  testimony  from  the  gills  which 
the  eyes  had  contradicted,  sighed  over  it,  and  sent  it  for  a 
present  to  somebody  else.  Were  I  a  lover  of  trout  as  Raffael- 
lino  was,  I  think  I  should  have  taken  an  opportunity  of  enjoying 
it  while  the  pink  and  crimson  were  glittering  on  it. 

Petrarca.     Trout,  yes. 

Boccaccio.     And  all  other  fish  I  could  encompass. 

Petrarca.  O  thou  grave  mocker  !  I  did  not  suspect  such 
slyness  in  thee  :  proof  enough  I  had  almost  forgotten  thee/ 

Boccaccio.  Listen  !  listen  !  I  fancied  I  caught  a  footstep  in 
the  passage.  Come  nearer;  bend  your  head  lower,  that  I 
may  whisper  a  word  in  your  ear.  Never  let  Assunta  hear  you 
sigh  :  she  is  mischievous.  She  may  have  been  standing  at  the 
door :  not  that  I  believe  she  would  be  guilty  of  any  such  im- 
propriety, but  who  knows  what  girls  are  capable  of !  She  has 
no  malice,  only  in  laughing;  and  a  sigh  sets  her  windmill  at 
work,  van  over  van,  incessantly. 

Petrarca.     I  should  soon  check  her.     I  have  no  notion  — 

Boccaccio.  After  all,  she  is  a  good  girl,  —  a  trifle  of  the 
wilful.  She  must  have  it  that  many  things  are  hurtful  to  me, 
—  reading  in  particular :  it  makes  people  so  odd.  Tina  is  a 
small  matter  of  the  madcap,  —  in  her  own  particular  way,  — 
but  exceedingly  discreet,  I  do  assure  you,  if  they  will  only  leave 
her  alone. 

I  find  I  was  mistaken,  there  was  nobody. 

Petrarca.     A  cat,  perhaps. 

Boccaccio.  No  such  thing.  I  order  him  over  to  Certaldo 
while  the  birds  are  laying  and  sitting ;  and  he  knows  by  ex- 
perience, favorite  as  he  is,  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  come  back 
before  he  is  sent  for.  Since  the  first  impetuosities  of  youth, 
he  has  rarely  been  refractory  or  disobliging.  We  have  lived 
together  now  these  five  years,  unless  I  miscalculate ;  and  he 
seems  to  have  learned  something  of  my  manners,  wherein  vio- 
lence and  enterprise  by  no  means  predominate.  I  have 
watched  him  looking  at  a  large  green  lizard ;  and,  their  eyes 


THE    PENTAMERON.  12$ 

being  opposite  and  near,  he  has  doubted  whether  it  might  be 
pleasing  to  me  if  he  began  the  attack ;  and  their  tails  on  a 
sudden  have  touched  one  another  at  the  decision. 

Petrarca.  Seldom  have  adverse  parties  felt  the  same  desire 
of  peace  at  the  same  moment,  and  none  ever  carried  it  more 
simultaneously  and  promptly  into  execution. 

Boccaccio.  He  enjoys  his  otium  cum  dignitate  at  Certaldo  : 
there  he  is  my  castellan,  and  his  chase  is  unlimited  in  those 
domains.  After  the  doom  of  relegation  is  expired,  he  comes 
hither  at  midsummer :  and  then  if  you  could  see  his  joy  ! 
His  eyes  are  as  deep  as  a  well,  and  as  clear  as  a  fountain ;  he 
jerks  his  tail  into  the  air  like  a  royal  sceptre,  and  waves  it  like 
the  wand  of  a  magician.  You  would  fancy  that,  as  Horace 
with  his  head,  he  was  about  to  smite  the  stars  with  it.  There 
is  ne'er  such  another  cat  in  the  parish ;  and  he  knows  it,  a 
rogue  !  We  have  rare  repasts  together  in  the  bean-and- bacon 
time,  although  in  regard  to  the  bean  he  sides  with  the  philoso- 
pher of  Samos,  —  but  after  due  examination.  In  cleanliness  he 
is  a  very  nun ;  albeit  in  that  quality  which  lies  between  cleanli- 
ness and  godliness,  there  is  a  smack  of  Fra  Biagio  about  him. 
What  is  that  book  in  your  hand  ? 

Petrarca.     My  breviary. 

Boccaccio.  Well,  give  me  mine  too,  —  there,  on  the  little 
table  in  the  corner,  under  the  glass  of  primroses.  We  can  do 
nothing  better. 

Petrarca.    What  prayer  were  you  looking  for  ?    Let  me  find  it. 

Boccaccio.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  :  I  am  scarcely  at  present 
in  a  frame  of  mind  for  it.  We  are  of  one  faith  :  the  prayers  of 
the  one  will  do  for  the  other,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  you  omitted 
my  name,  you  would  say  them  all  over  afresh.  I  wish  you 
could  recollect  in  any  book  as  dreamy  a  thing  to  entertain  me 
as  I  have  been  just  repeating.  We  have  had  enough  of  Dante  : 
I  believe  few  of  his  beauties  have  escaped  us,  and  small  faults, 
which  we  readily  pass  by,  are  fitter  for  small  folks,  as  grubs 
are  the  proper  bait  for  gudgeons. 

Petrarca.  I  have  had  as  many  dreams  as  most  men.  We 
are  all  made  up  of  them,  as  the  webs  of  the  spider  are  particles 
of  her  own  vitality.  But  how  infinitely  less  do  we  profit  by 
them  !  I  will  relate  to  you,  before  we  separate,  one  among 
the  multitude  of  mine,  as  coming  the  nearest  to  the  poetry  of 


124  THE    PENTAMERON. 

yours,  and  as  having  been  not  totally  useless  to  me.  Often 
have  I  reflected  on  it,  —  sometimes  with  pensiveness,  with  sad- 
ness never. 

Boccaccio.  Then,  Francesco,  if  you  had  with  you  as  copious 
a  choice  of  dreams  as  clustered  on  the  elm-trees  where  the 
Sibyl  led  ^Eneas,  this,  in  preference  to  the  whole  swarm  of 
them,  is  the  queen  dream  for  me. 

Petrarca.  When  I  was  younger  I  was  fond  of  wandering  in 
solitary  places,  and  never  was  afraid  of  slumbering  in  woods 
and  grottoes.  Among  the  chief  pleasures  of  my  life,  and  among 
the  commonest  of  my  occupations,  was  the  bringing  before  me 
such  heroes  and  heroines  of  antiquity,  such  poets  and  sages, 
such  of  the  prosperous  and  the  unfortunate,  as  most  interested 
me  by  their  courage,  their  wisdom,  their  eloquence,  or  their 
adventures.  Engaging  them  in  the  conversation  best  suited  to 
their  characters,  I  knew  perfectly  their  manners,  their  steps, 
their  voices  ;  and  often  did  I  moisten  with  my  tears  the  models 
I  had  been  forming  of  the  less  happy. 

Boccaccio.  Great  is  the  privilege  of  entering  into  the  studies 
of  the  intellectual ;  great  is  that  of  conversing  with  the  guides 
of  nations,  the  movers  of  the  mass,  the  regulators  of  the  unruly 
will,  stiff,  in  its  impurity  and  rust,  against  the  finger  of  the  Al- 
mighty Power  that  formed  it :  but  give  me,  Francesco,  give  me 
rather  the  creature  to  sympathize  with ;  apportion  me  the  suf- 
ferings to  assuage.  Ah,  gentle  soul !  thou  wilt  never  send  them 
over  to  another ;  they  have  better  hopes  from  thee. 

Petrarca.  We  both  alike  feel  the  sorrows  of  those  around 
us.  He  who  suppresses  or  allays  them  in  another  breaks 
many  thorns  off  his  own,  and  future  years  will  never  harden 
fresh  ones. 

My  occupation  was  not  always  in  making  the  politician  talk 
politics,  the  orator  toss  his  torch  among  the  populace,  the 
philosopher  run  down  from  philosophy  to  cover  the  retreat  or 
the  advances  of  his  sect,  but  sometimes  in  devising  how  such 
characters  must  act  and  discourse  on  subjects  far  remote  from 
the  beaten  track  of  their  career.  In  like  manner  the  philolo- 
gist, and  again  the  dialectician,  were  not  indulged  in  the  review 
and  parade  of  their  trained  bands,  but  at  times  brought  forward 
to  show  in  what  manner  and  in  what  degree  external  habits 
had  influenced  the  conformation  of  the  internal  man.  It  was 


THE    PENTAMERON.  125 

far  from  unprofitable  to  set  passing  events  before  past  actors, 
and  to  record  the  decisions  of  those  whose  interests  and  pas- 
sions are  unconcerned  in  them. 

Boccaccio.  This  is  surely  no  easy  matter.  The  thoughts 
are  in  fact  your  own,  however  you  distribute  them. 

Petrarca.  All  cannot  be  my  own,  if  you  mean  by  thoughts 
the  opinions  and  principles  I  should  be  the  most  desirous  to 
inculcate.  Some  favorite  ones  perhaps  may  obtrude  too  promi- 
nently, but  otherwise  no  misbehavior  is  permitted  them ;  rep- 
rehension and  rebuke  are  always  ready,  and  the  offence  is 
punished  on  the  spot. 

Boccaccio.  Certainly  you  thus  throw  open,  to  its  full  extent, 
the  range  of  poetry  and  invention,  which  cannot  but  be  very 
limited  and  sterile,  unless  where  we  find  displayed  much  di- 
versity of  character  as  disseminated  by  nature,  much  peculiarity 
of  sentiment  as  arising  from  position,  marked  with  unerring 
skill  through  every  shade  and  gradation  ;  and  finally  and  chiefly, 
much  intertexture  and  intensity  of  passion.  You  thus  convey 
to  us  more  largely  and  expeditiously  the  stores  of  your  under- 
standing and  imagination  than  you  ever  could  by  sonnets  or 
canzonets,  or  sinewless  and  sapless  allegories. 

But  weightier  works  are  less  captivating.  If  you  had  pub- 
lished any  such  as  you  mention,  you  must  have  waited  for  their 
acceptance.  Not  only  the  fame  of  Marcellus,  but  every  other, 

"Crescit  occulto  velut  arbor  aevo;" 

and  that  which  makes  the  greatest  vernal  shoot  is  apt  to  make 
the  least  autumnal.  Authors  in  general  who  have  met  celebrity 
at  starting,  have  already  had  their  reward, —  always  their  utmost 
due,  and  often  much  beyond  it.  We  cannot  hope  for  both 
celebrity  and  fame,  —  supremely  fortunate  are  the  few  who  are 
allowed  the  liberty  of  choice  between  them.  We  two  prefer 
the  strength  that  springs  from  exercise  and  toil,  acquiring  it 
gradually  and  slowly ;  we  leave  to  others  the  earlier  blessing  of 
that  sleep  which  follows  enjoyment.  How  many  at  first  sight 
are  enthusiastic  in  their  favor  !  Of  these  how  large  a  portion 
come  away  empty-handed  and  discontented  !  —  like  idlers  who 
visit  the  seacoast,  fill  their  pockets  with  pebbles  bright  from  the 
passing  wave,  and  carry  them  off  with  rapture.  After  a  short 
examination  at  home,  every  streak  seems  faint  and  dull,  and  the 


126  THE    PENTAMERON. 

whole  contexture  coarse,  uneven,  and  gritty :  first  one  is  thrown 
away,  then  another ;  and  before  the  week's  end  the  store  is  gone 
of  things  so  shining  and  wonderful. 

Petrarca.  Allegory,  which  you  named  with  sonnets  and 
canzonets,  had  few  attractions  for  me,  believing  it  to  be  the 
delight  in  general  of  idle,  frivolous,  inexcursive  minds,  in  whose 
mansions  there  is  neither  hall  nor  portal  to  receive  the  loftier 
of  the  passions.  A  stranger  to  the  affections,  she  holds  a  low 
station  among  the  handmaidens  of  Poetry,  being  fit  for  little 
but  an  apparition  in  a  mask.  I  had  reflected  for  some  time  on 
this  subject,  when,  wearied  with  the  length  of  my  walk  over  the 
mountains,  and  finding  a  soft  old  molehill  covered  with  gray 
grass  by  the  way-side,  I  laid  my  head  upon  it  and  slept.  I 
cannot  tell  how  long  it  was  before  a  species  of  dream  or  vision 
came  over  me. 

Two  beautiful  youths  appeared  beside  me.  Each  was  winged  ; 
but  the  wings  were  hanging  down,  and  seemed  ill  adapted  to 
flight.  One  of  them,  whose  voice  was  the  softest  I  ever  heard, 
looking  at  me  frequently,  said  to  the  other,  "  He  is  under  my 
guardianship  for  the  present ;  do  not  awaken  him  with  that 
feather." 

Methought,  hearing  the  whisper,  I  saw  something  like  the 
feather  on  an  arrow,  and  then  the  arrow  itself,  —  the  whole  of 
it,  even  to  the  point ;  although  he  carried  it  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  was  difficult  at  first  to  discover  more  than  a  palm's  length 
of  it :  the  rest  of  the  shaft,  and  the  whole  of  the  barb,  was  be- 
hind his  ankles. 

"  This  feather  never  awakens  any  one,"  replied  he,  rather 
petulantly ;  "  but  it  brings  more  of  confident  security,  and 
more  of  cherished  dreams,  than  you  without  me  are  capable  of 
imparting." 

"  Be  it  so  !"  answered  the  gentler,  —  "  none  is  less  inclined 
to  quarrel  or  dispute  than  I  am.  Many  whom  you  have  wounded 
grievously,  call  upon  me  for  succor.  But  so  little  am  I  dis- 
posed to  thwart  you,  it  is  seldom  I  venture  to  do  more  for  them 
than  to  whisper  a  few  words  of  comfort  in  passing.  How  many 
reproaches  on  these  occasions  have  been  cast  upon  me  for  in- 
difference and  infidelity  !  Nearly  as  many,  and  nearly  in  the 
same  terms,  as  upon  you  !  " 

"  Odd  enough  that  we,  O  Sleep  !  should  be  thought  so  alike  !  " 


THE    J'ENTAMERON. 

said  Love,  contemptuously.  "  Yonder  is  he  who  bears  a  nearer 
resemblance  to  you  :  the  dullest  have  observed  it." 

I  fancied  I  turned  my  eyes  to  where  he  was  pointing,  and 
saw  at  a  distance  the  figure  he  designated.  Meanwhile  the 
contention  went  on  uninterruptedly.  Sleep  was  slow  in  assert- 
ing his  power  or  his  benefits  ;  Love  recapitulated  them,  but  only 
that  he  might  assert  his  own  above  them.  Suddenly  he  called 
on  me  to  decide,  and  to  choose  my  patron.  Under  the  influence 
first  of  the  one,  then  of  the  other,  I  sprang  from  repose  to  rap- 
ture, I  alighted  from  rapture  on  repose,  —  and  knew  not  which 
was  sweetest.  Love  was  very  angry  with  me,  and  declared  he 
would  cross  me  throughout  the  whole  of  my  existence.  What- 
ever I  might  on  other  occasions  have  thought  of  his  veracity,  I 
now  felt  too  surely  the  conviction  that  he  would  keep  his  word. 
At  last,  before  the  close  of  the  altercation,  the  third  Genius  had 
advanced  and  stood  near  us.  I  cannot  tell  how  I  knew  him, 
but  I  knew  him  to  be  the  Genius  of  Death.  Breathless  as  I 
was  at  beholding  him,  I  soon  became  familiar  with  his  features. 
First  they  seemed  only  calm,  presently  they  grew  contemplative, 
and  lastly  beautiful :  those  of  the  Graces  themselves  are  less 
regular,  less  harmonious,  less  composed.  Love  glanced  at  him 
unsteadily,  with  a  countenance  in  which  there  was  somewhat 
of  anxiety,  somewhat  of  disdain  ;  and  cried,  "  Go  away  !  go 
away  !  nothing  that  thou  touchest  lives  !  " 

"  Say  rather,  child  !  "  replied  the  advancing  form,  and  ad- 
vancing grew  loftier  and  statelier,  —  "  say  rather  that  nothing 
of  beautiful  or  of  glorious  lives  its  own  true  life  until  my  wing 
hath  passed  over  it." 

Love  pouted,  and  rumpled  and  bent  down  with  his  forefinger 
the  stiff  short  feathers  on  his  arrow-head,  but  replied  not.  Al- 
though he  frowned  worse  than  ever,  and  at  me,  I  dreaded  him 
less  and  less,  and  scarcely  looked  toward  him.  The  milder  and 
calmer  Genius,  the  third,  in  proportion  as  I  took  courage  to 
contemplate  him,  regarded  me  with  more  and  more  compla- 
cency. He  held  neither  flower  nor  arrow,  as  the  others  did ; 
but  throwing  back  the  clusters  of  dark  curls  that  overshadowed 
his  countenance,  he  presented  to  me  his  hand,  openly  and  be- 
nignly. I  shrank  on  looking  at  him  so  near,  and  yet  I  sighed 
to  love  him.  He  smiled,  not  without  an  expression  of  pity,  at 
perceiving  my  diffidence,  my  timidity,  —  for  I  remembered  how 


128  THE    PENTAMERON. 

soft  was  the  hand  of  Sleep,  how  warm  and  entrancing  was  Love's. 
By  degrees  I  became  ashamed  of  my  ingratitude  ;  and  turning 
my  face  away,  I  held  out  my  arms  and  felt  my  neck  within  his. 
Composure  strewed  and  allayed  all  the  throbbings  of  my 
bosom  ;  the  coolness  of  freshest  morning  breathed  around  ;  the 
heavens  seemed  to  open  above  me ;  while  the  beautiful  cheek 
of  my  deliverer  rested  on  my  head.  I  would  now  have  looked 
for  those  others,  but  knowing  my  intention  by  my  gesture,  he 
said  consolatorily, — 

"  Sleep  is  on  his  way  to  the  Earth,  where  many  are  calling 
him ;  but  it  is  not  to  these  he  hastens,  for  every  call  only 
makes  him  fly  farther  off.  Sedate  and  grave  as  he  looks, 
he  is  nearly  as  capricious  and  volatile  as  the  more  arrogant 
and  ferocious  one." 

"And  Love  !  "  said  I,  "whither  is  he  departed?  If  not  too 
late,  I  would  propitiate  and  appease  him." 

"  He  who  cannot  follow  me,  he  who  cannot  overtake  and 
pass  me,"  said  the  Genius,  "  is  unworthy  of  the  name,  the 
most  glorious  in  earth  or  heaven.  Look  up  !  Love  is  yonder, 
and  ready  to  receive  thee." 

I  looked  ;  the  earth  was  under  me  ;  I  saw  only  the  clear 
blue  sky,  and  something  brighter  above  it. 


PIEVANO   GRIGI   TO   THE   READER. 

BEFORE  I  proceeded  on  my  mission,  I  had  a  final  audience 
of  Monsignore,  in  which  I  asked  his  counsel  whether  a  paper 
sewed  and  pasted  to  the  "  Interviews,"  being  the  substance  of 
an  intended  Confession,  might,  according  to  the  Decretals,  be 
made  public.  Monsignore  took  the  subject  into  his  considera- 
tion, and  assented.  Previously  to  the  solution  of  this  question, 
he  was  graciously  pleased  to  discourse  on  Boccaccio,  and  to 
say,  "  I  am  happy  to  think  he  died  a  good  Catholic,  and 
contentedly." 

"  No  doubt,  Monsignore  !  "  answered  I,  "  for  when  he  was 
on  his  death-bed,  or  a  little  sooner,  the  most  holy  man  in 
Italy  admonished  him  terribly  of  his  past  transgressions,  and 
frightened  him  fairly  into  paradise." 


THE    PENTAMERON. 

"  Pievano,"  said  Monsignore,  "  it  is  customary  in  the  fash- 
ionable literature  of  our  times  to  finish  a  story  in  two  manners. 
The  most  approved  is  to  knock  on  the  head  every  soul  that 
has  been  interesting  you ;  the  second  is  to  put  the  two  young- 
est into  bed  together,  promising  the  same  treatment  to  another 
couple,  or  more.  Our  forefathers  were  equally  zealous  about 
those  they  dealt  with.  Every  Pagan  turned  Christian ;  every 
loose  woman  had  bark  to  grow  about  her,  as  thick  and  as  strin- 
gent as  the  ladies  had  in  Ovid's  Metamorphoses ;  and  the  gal- 
lants who  had  played  false  with  them  were  driven  mad  by  the 
monks  at  their  death-bed.  I  neither  hope  nor  believe  that 
poor  Boccaccio  gave  way  to  their  importunities,  but  am  happy 
in  thinking  that  his  decease  was  as  tranquil  as  his  life  was 
inoffensive.  He  was  not  exempt  from  the  indiscretions  of 
youth ;  he  allowed  his  imagination  too  long  a  dalliance  with 
his  passions,  but  malice  was  never  found  among  them.  Let 
us  then,  in  charity  to  him  and  to  ourselves,  be  persuaded  that 
such  a  pest  as  this  mad  zealot  had  no  influence  over  him,  — 

Ne  turb6  il  tuono  di  nebbiosa  mente 
Acqua  si  limpida  e  ridente.1 

I  cannot  but  break  into  verse  (although  no  poet)  while  I  am 
thinking  of  him.  Such  men  as  he  would  bring  over  more  to 
our  good-natured  honest  old  faith  again  than  fifty  monks  with 
scourges  at  their  shoulders." 

"  Ah,  Monsignore  !  "  answered  I,  "  could  I  but  hope  to  be 
humbly  instrumental  in  leading  back  the  apostate  Church  to 
our  true  Catholic,  I  should  be  the  happiest  man  alive." 

"  God  forbid  you  should  be  without  the  hope  !  "  said  Mon- 
signore. "  The  two  chief  differences  now  are,  —  with  ours,  that 
we  must  not  eat  butcher's  meat  on  a  Friday ;  with  the  Angli- 
can, that  they  must  not  eat  baked  meat  on  a  Sunday.  Sec- 
ondly, that  we  say,  '  Come,  and  be  saved  ; '  the  Anglican  says, 
'  Go,  and  be  damned.'  " 

Since  the  exposition  of  Monsignore,  the  Parliament  has 
issued  an  Act  of  Grace  in  regard  to  eating.  One  article  says, 
"  Nobody  shall  eat  on  a  Sunday  roast  or  baked  or  other  hot 
victuals  whatsoever,  unless  he  goes  to  church  in  his  own  car- 

1  Nor  did  the  thunderings  of  a  cloudy  mind 
Trouble  so  limpid  and  serene  a  water. 
9 


I3O  THE    PENTAMERON. 

riage ;  if  he  goes  thither  in  any  other  than  his  own,  be  he  halt 
or  blind,  he  shall  be  subject  to  the  penalty  of  twenty  pounds. 
Nobody  shall  dance  on  a  Sunday,  or  play  music,  unless  he  also 
be  able  to  furnish  three  ecarte  tables  at  the  least,  and  sixteen 
wax-lights.". 

I  write  from  memory;  but  if  the  wording  is  inexact,  the 
sense  is  accurate.  Nothing  can  be  more  gratifying  to  a  true 
Catholic  than  to  see  the  amicable  game  played  by  his  bishops 
with  the  Anglican.  The  Catholic  never  makes  a  false  move. 
His  fish  often  slips  into  the  red  square,  marked  "  Sunday,"  but 
the  shoulder  of  mutton  can  never  get  into  its  place,  marked 
"  Friday ;  "  it  lies  upon  the  table,  and  nobody  dares  touch  it. 
Alas  !  I  am  forgetting  that  this  is  purely  an  English  game,  and 
utterly  unknown  among  us,  or  indeed  in  any  other  country 
under  heaven. 

To  promote  still  further  the  objects  of  religion,  as  understood 
in  the  Universities  and  the  Parliament,  it  was  proposed  that 
public  prayers  should  be  offered  up  for  rain  on  every  Sabbath- 
day,  the  more  effectually  to  encompass  the  provisions  of  the 
Bill.  But  this  clause  was  cancelled  in  the  Committee,  on  the 
examination  of  a  groom,  who  deposed  that  a  coach-horse  of 
his  master,  the  bishop  of  London,  was  touched  in  the  wind, 
and  might  be  seriously  a  sufferer,  —  "  for  the  bishop,"  said  he, 
"  is  no  better  walker  than  a  goose." 

There  is,  moreover,  great  and  general  discontent  in  the  lower 
orders  of  the  clergy  that  some  should  be  obliged  to  serve  a 
couple  of  churches,  and  perhaps  a  jail  or  hospital  to  boot,  for 
a  stipend  of  a  hundred  pounds  and  even  less,  while  others  are 
incumbents  of  pluralities,  doing  no  duty  at  all,  and  receiving 
three  or  four  thousands.  It  is  reported  that  several  of  the  more 
fortunate  are  so  utterly  shameless  as  to  liken  the  Church  to  a 
lottery- office,  and  to  declare  that  unless  there  were  great  prizes 
no  man  in  his  senses  would  enter  into  the  service  of  our  Lord. 
I  myself  have  read  with  my  own  eyes  this  declaration ;  but  I 
hope  the  signature  is  a  forgery.  What  is  certain  is,  that  the 
emoluments  of  the  bishopric  of  London  are  greater  than  the 
united  revenue  of  twelve  cardinals ;  that  they  are  amply  suffi- 
cient for  the  board,  lodging,  and  education  of  three  hundred 
young  men  destined  to  the  ministry ;  and  that  they  might 
relieve  from  famine,  rescue  from  sin,  and  save  perhaps  from 


THE    PENTAMERON.  13! 

eternal  punishment  three  thousand  fellow-creatures  yearly.  On 
a  narrow  inspection  of  one  manufacturing  town  in  England,  I 
deliver  it  as  my  firm  opinion  that  it  contains  more  crime  and 
wretchedness  than  all  the  four  continents  of  our  globe.  If 
these  enormous  masses  of  wealth  had  been  fairly  subdivided 
and  carefully  expended ;  if  a  more  numerous  and  more  effi- 
cient clergy  had  been  appointed,  —  how  very  much  of  sin  and 
sorrow  had  been  obviated  and  allayed  !  Ultimately  the  poor 
will  be  driven  to  desperation,  there  being  no  check  upon  them, 
no  guardian  over  them ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  sleeper,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  will  be  opened  by  pincers.  In  the  midst  of  such 
woes,  originating  in  her  iniquities  and  aggravated  by  her  su- 
pineness,  the  Church  of  England,  the  least  reformed  Church  in 
Christendom  and  the  most  opposite  to  the  institutions  of  the 
State,  boasts  of  being  the  purest  member  of  the  Reformation. 
Shocked  at  such  audacity  and  impudence,  the  conscientious 
and  pious,  not  only  of  her  laity  but  also  of  her  clergy,  fall  daily 
off  from  her,  and,  resigning  all  hope  of  parks  and  palaces, 
embrace  the  cross. 

Never  since  the  Reformation  (so  called)  have  our  prospects 
been  so  bright  as  at  the  present  day.  Our  own  prelates  and 
those  of  the  English  Church  are  equally  at  work  to  the  same 
effect ;  and  the  Catholic  clergy  will  come  into  possession  of 
their  churches  with  as  little  change  in  the  temporals  as  in  the 
spirituals.  It  is  the  law  of  the  land  that  the  Church  cannot 
lose  her  rights  and  possessions  by  lapse  of  time ;  impossible 
then  that  she  should  lose  it  by  fraud  and  fallacy.  Although 
the  bishops  of  England,  regardless  of  their  vocations  and  vows, 
have  by  deceit  and  falsehood  obtained  Acts  of  Parliament, 
under  sanction  of  which  they  have  severed  from  their  sees  and 
made  over  to  their  families  the  possessions  of  the  Episcopacy, 
it  cannot  be  questioned  that  what  has  been  wrongfully  alienated 
will  be  rightfully  restored.  No  time,  no  trickery,  no  subterfuge 
can  conceal  it.  The  exposure  of  such  thievery  in  such  eminent 
stations  (worse  and  more  shameful  than  any  on  the  Thames  or 
in  the  lowest  haunts  of  villany  and  prostitution),  and  of  attempts 
to  seize  from  their  poorer  brethren  a  few  decimals  to  fill  up  a 
deficiency  in  many  thousands,  has  opened  wide  the  eyes  of 
England.  Consequently,  there  are  religious  men  who  resort 
from  all  quarters  to  the  persecuted  mother  they  had  so  long 


132  THE    PENTAMERON. 

abandoned.  God  at  last  has  made  his  enemies  perform  his 
work ;  and  the  English  prelates,  not  indeed  on  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance as  would  befit  them,  but  thrust  by  the  scorner  into 
his  uneasy  chair,  are  mending  with  scarlet  silk  and  seaming 
with  threads  of  gold  the  copes  and  dalmatics  of  their  worthy 
predecessors.  I  am  overjoyed  in  declaring  to  my  townsmen 
that  the  recent  demeanor  of  these  prelates,  refractory  and  mu- 
tinous as  it  has  been  (in  other  matters)  to  the  government  of 
their  patron  the  king,  has  ultimately  (by  joining  the  malcon- 
tents in  abolishing  the  favorite  farce  of  religious  freedom,  and 
in  forbidding  roast-meat  and  country  air  on  the  Sabbath)  filled 
up  my  subscription  for  the  bell  of  San  Vivaldo. 

Salve  Regina  Cceli ! 

PRETE  DOMENICO  GRIGI. 

LONDON,  June  17,  1837. 


HEADS   OF   CONFESSION;    A   MONTHFUL. 

Printed  and  Published  Superiorum  Licentid. 

March  14.  Being  ill  at  ease,  I  cried,  "  Diavolo  !  I  wish 
that  creaking  shutter  was  at  thy  bedroom,  instead  of  mine,  old 
fellow  !  "  Assuntina  would  have  composed  me,  showing  me 
how  wrong  it  was.  Perverse  ;  and  would  not  acknowledge  my 
sinfulness  to  her.  I  said  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  which 
vexed  her. 

March  23.  Reproved  Assuntina,  and  called  her  ragazzaccia, 
for  asking  of  Messer  Piero  Pimperna  half  the  evening's  milk  of 
his  goat.  Very  wrong  in  me,  it  being  impossible  she  should 
have  known  that  Messer  Piero  owed  me  four  lire  since  —  I 
forget  when. 

March  31.  It  blowing  tramontana,  I  was  ruffled  ;  suspected 
a  feather  in  the  minestra ;  said  the  rice  was  as  black  as  a  coal. 
Sad  falsehood  !  made  Assuntina  cry.  Saracenic  doings. 

Recapitulation.  Shameful  all  this  month  ;  I  did  not  believe 
such  bad  humor  was  in  me. 

Reflection.     The  Devil,  if  he  cannot  have  his  walk  one  way, 


THE   PENTAMERON.  133 

will  take  it  another;  never  at  a  fault.     Manifold  proof;  poor 


sinner 


April  2.  Thought  uncharitably  of  Fra  Biagio.  The  Frate 
took  my  hand,  asking  me  to  confess,  reminding  me  that  I  had 
not  confessed  since  the  3d  of  March,  although  I  was  so  sick 
and  tribulated  I  could  hardly  stir.  Peevish ;  said,  "  Confess 
yourself !  I  won't ;  I  am  not  minded.  You  will  find  those  not 
far  off  who  —  "  and  then  I  dipped  my  head  under  the  cover- 
let, and  saw  my  error. 

April  6.  Whispers  of  Satanasso,  pretty  clear  !  A  sprinkling 
of  vernal  thoughts,  much  too  advanced  for  the  season.  About 
three  hours  before  sunset,  Francesco  came.  Forgot  my 
prayers ;  woke  at  midnight,  recollected,  and  did  not  say  them. 
Might  have  told  him ;  never  occurred  that,  being  a  canonico, 
he  could  absolve  me ;  now  gone  again  these  three  days,  this 
being  the  fourteenth.  Must  unload  ere  heavier-laden.  Gratiae 
plena  !  have  mercy  upon  me  ! 


THE   TRANSLATOR'S   REMARKS 

ON  THE  ALLEGED  JEALOUSY  OF  BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA. 

AMONG  the  most   heinous  crimes  that  can  be  committed 
against  society  is  the 

"  temerati  crimen  amici," 

and  no  other  so  loosens  the  bonds  by  which  it  is  held  together. 
Once  and  only  once  in  my  life,  I  heard  it  defended  by  a  per- 
son of  intellect  and  integrity.  It  was  the  argument  of  a 
friendly  man,  who  would  have  invalidated  the  fact ;  it  was  the 
solicitude  of  a  prompt  and  dexterous  man,  holding  up  his  hat 
to  cover  the  shame  of  genius.  I  have  indeed  had  evidence  of 
some  who  saw  nothing  extraordinary  or  amiss  in  these  filchings 
and  twitchings  ;  but  there  are  persons  whose  thermometer  stands 
higher  by  many  degrees  at  other  points  than  at  honor.  There 
are  insects  on  the  shoals  and  sands  ot  literature,  shrimps  which 
must  be  half  boiled  before  they  redden  ;  and  there  are  blushes 


134  THE    PENTAMERON. 

(no  doubt)  in  certain  men,  of  which  the  precious  vein  lies  so 
deep  that  it  could  hardly  be  brought  to  light  by  cordage  and 
windlass.  Meanwhile  their  wrathfulness  shows  itself  at  once  by 
a  plashy  and  puffy  superficies,  with  an  exuberance  of  coarse 
rough  stuff  upon  it,  and  is  ready  to  soak  our  shoes  with  its 
puddle  at  the  first  pressure. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness  against  thy  neighbor  "  is 
a  commandment  which  the  literary  cast  down  from  over  their 
communion  table,  to  nail  against  the  doors  of  the  commonalty, 
with  a  fist  and  forefinger  pointing  at  it.  Although  the  depre- 
ciation of  any  work  is  dishonest,  the  attempt  is  more  infamous 
when  committed  against  a  friend.  The  calumniator  on  such 
occasions  may  in  some  measure  err  from  ignorance,  or  from 
inadequate  information,  but  nothing  can  excuse  him  if  he 
speaks  contemptuously.  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  such 
^Writers  as  Boccaccio  and  Petrarca  could  be  widely  erroneous  in 
each  other's  merits ;  no  less  incredible  is  it  that  if  they  did 
err  at  all,  they  would  openly  avow  a  disparaging  opinion.  This 
baseness  was  reserved  for  days  when  the  study  opens  into  the 
market-place,  when  letters  are  commodities,  and  authors  chap- 
men. Yet  even  upon  their  stalls,  where  an  antique  vase  would 
stand  little  chance  with  a  noticeable  piece  of  blue-and-white 
crockery,  and  shepherds  and  sailors  and  sunflowers  in  its  cir- 
cumference, it  might  be  heartily  and  honestly  derided,  —  but 
less  probably  by  the  fellow- villager  of  the  vender,  with  whom 
he  had  been  playing  at  quoits  every  day  of  his  life.  When  an 
ill-natured  story  is  once  launched  upon  the  world,  there  are 
many  who  are  careful  that  it  shall  not  soon  founder.  Thus  the 
idle  and  inconsiderate  rumor  which  has  floated  through  ages 
about  the  mutual  jealousy  of  Boccaccio  and  Petrarca,  finds  at 
this  day  a  mooring  in  all  quarters.  Never  were  two  men  so 
perfectly  formed  for  friendship ;  never  were  two  who  fulfilled 
so  completely  that  happy  destination.  True  it  is,  the  studious 
and  exact  Petrarca  had  not  elaborated  so  entirely  to  his  own 
satisfaction  his  poem  "  Africa  "as  to  submit  it  yet  to  the  in- 
spection of  Boccaccio,  to  whom  unquestionably  he  would  have 
been  delighted  to  show  it  the  moment  he  had  finished  it.  He 
died,  and  left  it  incomplete.  We  have,  it  must  be  acknowl- 
edged, the  authority  of  Petrarca  himself  that  he  never  had  read 
the  "  Decameron  "  through,  even  to  the  last  year  of  his  life, 


THE    PENTAMERON.  135 

when  he  had  been  intimate  with  Boccaccio  four-and-twenty 
years.  How  easy  would  it  have  been  for  him  to  dissemble  this 
fact !  How  certainly  would  any  man  have  dissembled  it  who 
doubted  of  his  own  heart  or  of  his  friend's  !  I  must  request  the 
liberty  of  adducing  his  whole  letter,  as  already  translated  :  — 

"  I  have  only  run  over  your  '  Decameron,'  and  therefore  I  am 
not  capable  of  forming  a  true  judgment  of  its  merit ;  but  upon  the 
whole  it  has  given  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  The  freedoms  in 
it  are  excusable,  from  having  been  written  in  youth,  from  the  sub- 
jects it  treats  of,  and  from  the  persons  for  whom  it  was  designed. 
Among  a  great  number  of  gay  and  witty  jokes,  there  are  however 
many  grave  and  serious  sentiments.  I  did  as  most  people  do, — 
I  paid  most  attention  to  the  beginning  and  the  end.  Your  descrip- 
tion of  the  people  in  the  Plague  is  very  true  and  pathetic,  and  the 
touching  story  of  Griseldis  has  been  ever  since  laid  up  in  my  mem- 
ory, that  I  may  relate  it  in  my  conversations  with  my  friends.  A 
friend  of  mine  at  Padua,  a  man  of  wit  and  knowledge,  undertook  to 
read  it  aloud;  but  he  had  scarcely  got  through  half  of  it,  when  his 
tears  prevented  him  going  on.  He  attempted  it  a  second  time  ; 
but  his  sobs  and  sighs  obliged  him  to  desist.  Another  of  my  friends 
determined  on  the  same  venture;  and  having  read  it  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  without  the  least  alteration  of  voice  or  gesture,  he  said, 
on  returning  the  book,  '  It  must  be  owned  that  this  is  an  affecting 
history,  and  I  should  have  wept  could  I  have  believed  it  true  ;  but 
there  never  was  and  never  will  be  a  woman  like  Griseldis.'  " 

Here  was  the  termination  of  Petrarca's  literary  life ;  he 
closed  it  with  the  last  words  of  this  letter,  which  are,  "Adieu, 
my  friends  !  adieu,  my  correspondence  !  "  Soon  afterward  he 
was  found  dead  in  his  library,  with  his  arm  leaning  on  a  book. 
In  the  whole  of  this  composition,  what  a  carefulness  and  solici- 
tude to  say  everything  that  could  gratify  his  friend  !  With  what 
ingenuity  are  those  faults  not  palliated  but  excused  (his  own  ex- 
pression) which  must  nevertheless  have  appeared  very  grievous 
ones  to  the  purity  of  Petrarca  ! 

But  why  did  not  Boccaccio  send  him  his  "  Decameron  "  long 
before  ?  Because  there  never  was  a  more  perfect  gentleman,  a 
man  more  fearful  of  giving  offence,  a  man  more  sensitive  to  the 
delicacy  of  friendship,  or  more  deferential  to  sanctity  of  char- 
acter. He  knew  that  the  lover  of  Laura  could  not  amuse  his 
hours  with  mischievous  or  idle  passions  ;  he  knew  that  he  rose 
at  midnight  to  repeat  his  matins,  and  never  intermitted  them. 
On  what  succeeding  hour  could  he  venture  to  seize ;  with  what 


136  THE    PENTAMERON. 

countenance  could  he  charge  it  with  the  levities  of  the  world  ? 
Perhaps  the  Recluse  of  Arqua,  the  visitor  of  old  Certaldo,  read 
at  last  the  "  Decameron  "  only  that  he  might  be  able  the  better 
to  defend  it.  And  how  admirably  has  the  final  stroke  of  his 
indefatigable  pen  effected  the  purpose  !  Is  this  the  jealous 
rival?  Boccaccio  received  the  last  testimony  of  unaltered 
friendship  in  the  month  of  October,  1373,  a  few  days  after  the 
writer's  death.  December  was  not  over  when  they  met  in 
heaven  :  and  never  were  two  gentler  spirits  united  there. 

The  character  of  Petrarca  shows  itself  in  almost  every  one  of 
his  various  works,  —  unsuspicious,  generous,  ardent  in  study,  in 
liberty,  in  love,  with  a  self-complacence  which  in  less  men  would 
be  vanity,  but  arising  in  him  from  the  general  admiration  of  a  no- 
ble presence,  from  his  place  in  the  interior  of  a  heart  which  no 
other  could  approach  or  merit,  and  from  the  homage  of  all  who 
held  the  principalities  of  Learning  in  every  part  of  Europe. 

Boccaccio  is  only  reflected  in  full  from  a  larger  mass  of  com- 
positions ;  yet  one  letter  is  quite  sufficient  to  display  the  beauty 
and  purity  of  his  mind.  It  was  written  from  Venice,  when 
finding  there,  not  Petrarca  whom  he  expected  to  find,  but  Pe- 
trarca's  daughter,  he  describes  to  the  father  her  modesty,  grace, 
and  cordiality  in  his  reception.  The  imagination  can  form  to 
itself  nothing  more  lovely  than  this  picture  of  the  gentle  Ermis- 
senda;  and  Boccaccio's  delicacy  and  gratitude  are  equally 
affecting.  No  wonder  that  Petrarca,  in  his  will,  bequeathed  to 
his  friend  a  sum  the  quintuple  in  amount  of  that  which  he  be- 
queathed to  his  only  brother,  whom  however  he  loved  tenderly. 
Such  had  been,  long  before  their  acquaintance,  the  celebrity  of 
Petrarca,  such  the  honors  conferred  on  him  wherever  he  re- 
sided or  appeared,  that  he  never  thought  of  equality  or  rivalry. 
And  such  was  Boccaccio's  reverential  modesty,  that,  to  the 
very  close  of  his  life,  he  called  Petrarca  his  master.  Immeasur- 
able as  was  his  own  superiority,  he  no  more  thought  himself 
the  equal  of  Petrarca  than  Dante  (in  whom  the  superiority 
was  almost  as  great)  thought  himself  Virgil's.  These,  I  be- 
lieve, are  the  only  instances  on  record  where  poets  have  been 
very  tenaciously  erroneous  in  the  estimate  of  their  own  inferi- 
ority. The  same  observation  cannot  be  made  so  confidently 
on  the  decisions  of  contemporary  critics.  Indeed,  the  balance 
in  which  works  of  the  highest  merit  are  balanced,  vibrates  long 


THE    PENTAMERON.  137 

before  it  is  finally  adjusted.  Even  the  most  judicious  men 
have  formed  injudicious  opinions  on  the  living  and  the  recently 
deceased.  Bacon  and  Hooker  could  not  estimate  Shakspeare, 
nor  could  Taylor  and  Barrow  give  Milton  his  just  award. 
Cowley  and  Dryden  were  preferred  to  both,  by  a  great  ma- 
jority of  the  learned.  Many,  although  they  believe  they  dis- 
cover in  a  contemporary  the  qualities  which  elevate  him 
above  the  rest,  yet  hesitate  to  acknowledge  it :  part,  because 
they  are  fearful  of  censure  for  singularity ;  part,  because  they 
differ  from  him  in  politics  or  religion ;  and  part,  because  they 
delight  in  hiding,  like  dogs  and  foxes,  what  they  can  at  any 
time  surreptitiously  draw  out  for  their  sullen  solitary  repast. 
Such  persons  have  little  delight  in  the  glory  of  our  country,  and 
would  hear  with  disapprobation  and  moroseness  that  it  has  pro- 
duced four  men  so  pre-eminently  great  that  no  name,  modern 
or  ancient,  excepting  Homer,  can  stand  very  near  the  lowest : 
these  are,  Shakspeare,  Bacon,  Milton,  and  Newton.  Beneath 
the  least  of  these  (if  any  one  can  tell  which  is  least)  are  Dante 
and  Aristoteles,  who  are  unquestionably  the  next.1  Out  of 
Greece  and  England,  Dante  is  the  only  man  of  the  first  order ; 
such  he  is,  with  all  his  imperfections.  Less  ardent  and  ener- 
getic, but  having  no  less  at  command  the  depths  of  thought 
and  treasures  of  fancy,  —  beyond  him  in  variety,  animation,  and 
interest,  beyond  him  in  touches  of  nature  and  truth  of  character, 
—  is  Boccaccio.  Yet  he  believed  his  genius  was  immeasurably 
inferior  to  Alighieri's ;  and  it  would  have  surprised  and  pained 
him  to  find  himself  preferred  to  his  friend  Petrarca,  —  which 
indeed  did  not  happen  in  his  lifetime,  So  difficult  is  it  to 
shake  the  tenure  of  long  possession,  or  to  believe  that  a  living 
man  is  as  valuable  as  an  old  statue,  that  for  five  hundred  years 
together  the  critics  held  Virgil  far  above  his  obsequious  but 
high-souled  scholar,  who  now  has  at  least  the  honor  of  stand- 
ing alone,  if  not  first.  Milton  and  Homer  may  be  placed  to- 
gether :  on  the  continent  Homer  will  be  seen  at  the  right 
hand  ;  in  England,  Milton.  Supreme  above  all,  immeasurably 
supreme,  stands  Shakspeare.  I  do  not  think  Dante  is  any 
more  the  equal  of  Homer  than  Hercules  is  the  equal  of  Apollo. 
Though  Hercules  may  display  more  muscles,  yet  Apollo  is  the 

1  We  can  speak  only  of  those  whose  works  are  extant.     Democritus 
and  Anaxagoras  were  perhaps  the  greatest  in  discovery  and  invention. 


138  THE    PENTAMERON. 

powerfuller  without  any  display  of  them  at  all.  Both  together 
are  just  equivalent  to  Milton,  shorn  of  his  Sonnets,  and  of 
his  "Allegro"  and  "  Penseroso," —  the  most  delightful  of  what 
(wanting  a  better  name)  we  call  lyrical  poems. 

But  in  the  contemplation  of  these  prodigies  we  must  not 
lose  the  company  we  entered  with.  Two  contemporaries  so 
powerful  in  interesting  our  best  affections  as  Giovanni  and 
Francesco,  never  existed  before  or  since.  Petrarca  was 
honored  and  beloved  by  all  conditions.  He  collated  with  the 
student  and  investigator,  he  planted  with  the  husbandman,  he 
was  the  counsellor  of  kings,  the  reprover  of  pontiffs,  and  the 
pacificator  of  nations.  Boccaccio,  who  never  had  occasion 
to  sigh  for  solitude,  never  sighed  in  it :  there  was  his  station, 
there  his  studies,  there  his  happiness.  In  the  vivacity  and  ver- 
satility of  imagination,  in  the  narrative,  in  the  descriptive,  in 
the  playful,  in  the  pathetic,  the  world  never  saw  his  equal  until 
the  sunrise  of  our  Shakspeare.  Ariosto  and  Spenser  may  stand 
at  great  distance  from  him  in  the  shadowy  and  unsubstantial ; 
but  multiform  Man  was  utterly  unknown  to  them.  The  human 
heart,  through  all  its  foldings,  vibrates  to  Boccaccio. 


CITATION    AND    EXAMINATION 

OF 

WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE, 

EUSEBY  TREEN,  JOSEPH  CARNABY,  AND  SILAS  GOUGH,  CLERK, 

BEFORE    THE    WORSHIPFUL 

SIR    THOMAS    LUCY,    KNIGHT, 

TOUCHING   DEER-STEALING, 
ON  THE  19TH  DAY  OF  SEPTEMBER,  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  GRACE  1582. 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE. 


"  IT  was  an  ancestor  of  my  husband  who  brought  out  the  famous 
Shakspeare."  These  words  were  really  spoken,  and  were  repeated 
in  conversation  as  ridiculous.  Certainly  such  was  very  far  from  the 
lady's  intention  ;  and  who  knows  to  what  extent  they  are  true  ? 

The  frolic  of  Shakspeare  in  deer-stealing  was  the  cause  of  his 
"Hegira;"  and  his  connection  with  players  in  London  was  the 
cause  of  his  writing  plays.  Had  he  remained  in  his  native  town, 
his  ambition  had  never  been  excited  by  the  applause  of  the  intellec- 
tual, the  popular,  and  the  powerful,  which  after  all  was  hardly  suf- 
ficient to  excite  it.  He  wrote  from  the  same  motive  as  he  acted, — 
to  earn  his  daily  bread.  He  felt  his  own  powers,  but  he  cared  little 
for  making  them  felt  by  others  more  than  served  his  wants. 

The  malignant  may  doubt,  or  pretend  to  doubt,  the  authenticity 
of  the  u  Examination"  here  published.  Let  us,  who  are  not  ma- 
lignant, be  cautious  of  adding  anything  to  the  noisome  mass  of  in- 
credulity that  surrounds  us ;  let  us  avoid  the  crying  sin  of  our 
age,  in  which  the  "Memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk,"  edited  as  they 
were  by  a  pious  and  learned  dignitary  of  the  Established  Church, 
are  questioned  in  regard  to  their  genuineness ;  and  even  the  privi- 
leges of  Parliament  are  inadequate  to  cover  from  the  foulest  im- 
putation—  the  imputation  of  having  exercised  his  inventive  faculties 
—  the  elegant  and  accomplished  editor  of  Eugene  Aram's  apprehen- 
sion, trial,  and  defence. 

Indeed,  there  is  little  of  real  history  excepting  in  romances. 
Some  of  these  are  strictly  true  to  nature  ;  while  histories  in  general 
give  a  distorted  view  of  her,  and  rarely  a  faithful  record  either  of 
momentous  or  of  common  events. 

Examinations  taken  from  the  mouth  are  surely  the  most  trust- 
worthy:  whoever  doubts  it,  may  be  convinced  by  Ephraim  Barnett. 

The  Editor  is  confident  he  can  give  no  offence  to  any  person  who 
may  happen  to  bear  the  name  of  Lucy.  The  family  of  Sir  Thomas 
became  extinct  nearly  half  a  century  ago,  and  the  estates  descended 
to  the  Rev.  Mr.  John  Hammond,  of  Jesus  College,  in  Oxford,  a 


142  EDITORS    PREFACE. 

respectable  Welsh  curate,  between  whom  and  him  there  existed  at 
his  birth  eighteen  prior  claimants.     He  took  the  name  of  Lucy. 

The  reader  will  form  to  himself,  from  this  "Examination  of 
Shakspeare,"  a  more  favorable  opinion  of  Sir  Thomas  than  is  left 
upon  his  mind  by  the  dramatist  in  the  character  of  Justice  Shallow. 
The  knight  indeed  is  here  exhibited  in  all  his  pride  of  birth  and 
station,  in  all  his  pride  of  theologian  and  poet.  He  is  led  by  the 
nose,  while  he  believes  that  nobody  can  move  him,  and  shows  some 
other  weaknesses,  which  the  least  attentive  observer  will  discover  ; 
but  he  is  not  without  a  little  kindness  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart, — 
a  heart  too  contracted  to  hold  much,  or  to  let  what  it  holds  ebulliate 
very  freely.  But,  upon  the  whole,  we  neither  can  utterly  hate  nor 
utterly  despise  him.  Ungainly  as  he  is, 

"Ckcum  praecordia  ludit." 

The  author  of  the  "Imaginary  Conversations"  seems,  in  his 
'*  Boccaccio  and  Petrarca,"  to  have  taken  his  idea  of  Sir  Magnus 
from  this  manuscript.  He  however  has  adapted  that  character  to 
the  times;  and  in  Sir  Magnus  the  coward  rises  to  the  courageous, 
the  unskilful  in  arms  becomes  the  skilful,  and  war  is  to  him  a  teacher 
of  humanity.  With  much  superstition,  theology  never  molests  him  ; 
scholarship  and  poetry  are  no  affairs  of  his:  he  doubts  of  himself 
and  others,  and  is  as  suspicious  in  his  ignorance  as  Sir  Thomas  is 
confident. 

With  these  wide  diversities  there  are  family  features,  such  as  are 
likely  to  display  themselves  in  different  times  and  circumstances, 
and  some  so  generically  prevalent  as  never  to  lie  quite  dormant  in 
the  breed.  In  both  of  them  there  is  parsimony,  there  is  arrogance, 
there  is  contempt  of  inferiors,  there  is  abject  awe  of  power,  there  is 
irresolution,  there  is  imbecility.  But  Sir  Magnus  has  no  knowledge, 
and  no  respect  for  it.  Sir  Thomas  would  almost  go  thirty  miles, 
even  to  Oxford,  to  see  a  fine  specimen  of  it,  although  like  most  of 
those  who  call  themselves  the  godly,  he  entertains  the  most  un- 
doubting  belief  that  he  is  competent  to  correct  the  errors  of  the 
wisest  and  most  practised  theologian. 

A  part  only  of  the  many  deficiencies  which  the  reader  will  dis- 
cover in  this  book  is  attributable  to  the  Editor.  These  however  it 
is  his  duty  to  account  for,  and  he  will  do  it  as  briefly  as  he  can. 

The  fac-similes  (as  printers'  boys  call  them,  meaning  specimens) 
of  the  handwriting  of  nearly  all  the  persons  introduced  might  per- 
haps have  been  procured,  had  sufficient  time  been  allowed  for  an- 
other journey  into  Warwickshire.  That  of  Shakspeare  is  known 
already  in  the  signature  to  his  will,  but  deformed  by  sickness  ;  that 
of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  is  extant  at  the  bottom  of  a  commitment  of  a 
female  vagrant,  for  having  a  sucking  child  in  her  arms  on  the  public 
road  ;  that  of  Silas  Gough  is  affixed  to  the  register  of  births  and 
marriages,  during  several  years,  in  the  parishes  of  Hampton  Lucy  and 


EDITORS    PREFACE.  143 

Charlecote,  and  certifies  one  death,  —  Euseby  Treen's;  surmised 
at  least  to  be  his  by  the  letters  "  E.  T."  cut  on  a  bench  seven  inches 
thick,  under  an  old  pollard-oak  outside  the  park  paling  of  Charlecote, 
toward  the  northeast.  For  this  discovery  the  Editor  is  indebted 
to  a  most  respectable  intelligent  farmer  in  the  adjoining  parish  of 
Wasperton,  in  which  parish  Treen's  elder  brother  lies  buried.  The 
worthy  farmer  is  unwilling  to  accept  the  large  portion  of  fame  justly 
due  to  him  for  the  services  he  has  thus  rendered  to  literature  in 
elucidating  the  history  of  Shakspeare  and  his  times.  In  possession 
of  another  agricultural  gentleman  there  was  recently  a  very  curious 
piece  of  iron,  believed  by  many  celebrated  antiquaries  to  have  con- 
stituted a  part  of  a  knight's  breast- plate.  It  was  purchased  for  two 
hundred  pounds  by  the  trustees  of  the  British  Museum,  among 
whom,  the  reader  will  be  grieved  to  hear,  it  produced  dissension 
and  coldness  ;  several  of  them  being  of  opinion  that  it  was  merely 
a  gorget,  while  others  were  inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  the 
forepart  of  a  horse-shoe.  The  Committee  of  Taste  and  the  Heads 
of  the  Archaeological  Society  were  consulted.  These  learned,  dis- 
passionate, and  benevolent  men  had  the  satisfaction  of  conciliating 
the  parties  at  variance, —  each  having  yielded  somewhat  and  every 
member  signing,  and  affixing  his  seal  to  the  signature,  that,  if  in- 
deed it  be  the  forepart  of  a  horse-shoe,  it  was  probably  Ismaels; 
there  being  a  curved  indentation  along  it,  resembling  the  first  letter 
of  his  name,  and  there  being  no  certainty  or  record  that  he  died  in 
France,  or  was  left  in  that  country  by  Sir  Magnus. 

The  Editor  is  unable  to  render  adequate  thanks  to  the  Rev. 
Stephen  Turnover  for  the  gratification  he  received  in  his  curious 
library  by  a  sight  of  Joseph  Carnaby's  name  at  full-length,  in  red 
ink,  coming  from  a  trumpet  in  the  mouth  of  an  angel.  This  invalu- 
able document  is  upon  an  engraving  in  a  frontispiece  to  the  New 
Testament.  But  since  unhappily  he  could  procure  no  signature  of 
Hannah  Hathaway,  nor  of  her  mother,  and  only  a  questionable  one 
of  Mr.  John  Shakspeare,  the  poet's  father,  —  there  being  two,  in 
two  very  different  hands,  —  both  he  and  the  publisher  were  of 
opinion  that  the  graphical  part  of  the  volume  would  be  justly  cen- 
sured as  extremely  incomplete,  and  that  what  we  could  give  would 
only  raise  inextinguishable  regret  for  that  which  we  could  not.  On 
this  reflection  all  have  been  omitted. 

The  Editor  is  unwilling  to  affix  any  mark  of  disapprobation  on 
the  very  clever  engraver  who  undertook  the  sorrel  mare  ;  but  as  in 
the  memorable  words  of  that  ingenious  gentleman  from  Ireland, 
whose  polished  and  elaborate  epigrams  raised  him  justly  to  the  rank 
of  prime  minister,— 

"  White  was  not  so  -very  white," — 

in  like  manner  it  appeared  to  nearly  all  the  artists  he  consulted  that 
the  sorrel  mare  was  not  so  sorrel  in  print. 


144  EDITORS    PREFACE. 

There  is  another  and  a  graver  reason  why  the  Editor  was  induced 
to  reject  the  contribution  of  his  friend  the  engraver :  and  this  is,  a 
neglect  of  the  late  improvements  in  his  art,  he  having,  unadvisedly 
or  'thoughtlessly,  drawn  in  the  old-fashioned  manner  lines  at  the 
two  sides  and  at  the  top  and  bottom  of  his  print,  confining  it  to  such 
limits  as  paintings  are  confined  in  by  their  frames.  Our  spirited 
engravers,  it  is  well  known,  disdain  this  thraldom,  and  not  only 
give  unbounded  space  to  their  scenery,  but  also  melt  their  figures 
in  the  air,  —  so  advantageously,  that,  for  the  most  part,  they  ap- 
proach the  condition  of  cherubs.  This  is  the  true  aerial  perspec- 
tive, so  little  understood  heretofore.  Trees,  castles,  rivers,  volca- 
noes, oceans,  float  together  in  absolute  vacancy ;  the  solid  earth 
is  represented,  what  we  know  it  actually  is,  buoyant  as  a  bubble, 
so  that  no  wonder  if  every  horse  is  endued  with  all  the  privileges 
of  Pegasus,  save  and  except  our  sorrel.  Malicious  carpers,  insen- 
sible or  invidious  of  England's  glory,  deny  her  in  this  beautiful 
practice  the  merit  of  invention,  assigning  it  to  the  Chinese  in  their 
tea-cups  and  saucers  ;  but  if  not  absolutely  new  and  ours,  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  we  have  greatly  improved  and  extended  the 
invention. 

Such  are  the  reasons  why  the  little  volume  here  laid  before  the 
public  is  defective  in  those  decorations  which  the  exalted  state  of 
literature  demands.  Something  of  compensation  is  supplied  by  a 
Memorandum  of  Ephraim  Barnett,  written  upon  the  inner  cover, 
and  printed  below. 

The  Editor,  it  will  be  perceived,  is  but  little  practised  in  the  ways 
of  literature,  much  less  is  he  gifted  with  that  prophetic  spirit  which 
can  anticipate  the  judgment  of  the  public.  It  may  be  that  he  is 
too  idle  or  too  apathetic  to  think  anxiously  or  much  about  the 
matter;  and  yet  he  has  been  amused,  in  his  earlier  days,  at  watch- 
ing the  first  appearance  of  such  few  books  as  he  believed  to  be  the 
production  of  some  powerful  intellect.  He  has  seen  people  slowly 
rise  up  to  them,  like  carp  in  a  pond  when  food  is  thrown  into  it; 
some  of  which  carp  snatch  suddenly  at  a  morsel,  and  swallow  it ; 
others  touch  it  gently  with  their  barb,  pass  deliberately  by,  and 
leave  it;  others  wriggle  and  rub  against  it  more  disdainfully;  others, 
in  sober  truth,  know  not  wha*  to  make  of  it,  swim  round  and  round 
it,  eye  it  on  the  sunny  side,  eye  it  on  the  shady,  approach  it,  ques- 
tion it,  shoulder  it,  flap  it  with  the  tail,  turn  it  over,  look  askance  at 
it,  take  a  pea-shell  or  a  worm  instead  of  it,  and  plunge  again  their 
heads  into  the  comfortable  mud.  After  some  seasons  the  same 
food  will  suit  their  stomachs  better. 


EDITORS    PREFACE.  145 


MEMORANDUM,    BY   EPHRAIM    BARNETT. 

STUDYING  the  benefit  and  advantage  of  such  as  by  God's  bless- 
ing may  come  after  me,  and  willing  to  show  them  the  highways  of 
Providence  from  the  narrow  by-lane  in  the  which  it  hath  been  His 
pleasure  to  station  me,  and  being  now  advanced  full-nigh  unto  the 
close  and  consummation  of  my  earthly  pilgrimage,  methinks  I  can- 
not do  better  at  this  juncture  than  preserve  the  looser  and  lesser 
records  of  those  who  have  gone  before  me  in  the  same,  with  higher 
heel-piece  to  their  shoe  and  more  polished  scallop  to  their  beaver. 
And  here,  beforehand,  let  us  think  gravely  and  religiously  on  what 
the  Pagans  in  their  blindness  did  call  Fortune,  making  a  goddess  of 
her,  and  saying,  — 

"  One  body  she  lifts  up  so  high 
And  suddenly,  she  makes  him  cry 

And  scream  as  any  wench  might  do  „ 

That  you  should  play  the  rogue  unto : 
And  the  same  Lady  Light  sees  good 
To  drop  another  in  the  mud, 
Against  all  hope  and  likelihood."  l 

My  kinsman,  Jacob  Eldridge,  having  been  taught  by  me,  among 
other  useful  things,  to  write  a  fair  and  laudable  hand,  was  recom- 
mended and  introduced  by  our  worthy  townsman,  Master  Thomas 
Greene,  unto  the  Earl  of  Essex,  to  keep  his  accounts,  and  to  write 
down  sundry  matters  from  his  dictation,  even  letters  occasionally. 
For  althoug'h  our  nobility,  very  unlike  the  French,  not  only  can 
read  and  write,  but  often  do,  yet  some  from  generosity  and  some 
from  dignity  keep  in  their  employment  what  those  who  are  illiterate, 
and  would  not  appear  so,  call  an  "  amanuensis,"  thereby  meaning 
secretary  or  scribe.  Now,  it  happened  that  our  gracious  Queen's 
Highness  was  desirous  of  knowing  all  that  could  be  known  about 
the  rebellion  in  Ireland  ;  and  hearing  but  little  truth  from  her  nobility 
in  that  country,  —  even  the  fathers  in  God  inclining  more  unto  court 
favor  than  will  be  readily  believed  of  spiritual  lords,  and  moulding 
their  ductile  depositions  on  the  pasteboard  of  their  temporal  mis- 
tress until  she  was  angry  at  seeing  the  lawn -sleeves  so  besmirched 
from  wrist  to  elbow, —  she  herself  did  say  unto  the  Earl  of  Essex  : 
"Essex,  these  fellows  lie !  I  am  inclined  to  unfrock  and  scourge 
them  sorely  for  their  leasings.  Of  that  anon.  Find  out,  if  you 
can,  somebody  who  hath  his  wit  and  his  honesty  about  him  at  the 
same  time.  I  know  that  when  one  of  these  panniers  is  full  the 

1  The  Editor  has  been  unable  to  discover  who  was  the  author  of  this  very  free 
translation  of  an  Ode  in  Horace.  He  is  certainly  happy  in  his  amplification  of  the 
stridore  acuto.  May  it  not  be  surmised  that  he  was  some  favorite  scholar  of 
Ephraim  Barnett  ? 

10 


146  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 

other  is  apt  to  be  empty,  and  that  men  walk  crookedly  for  want  of 
balance.  No  matter,  we  must  search  and  find.  Persuade  —  thou 
canst  persuade,  Essex  !  —  say  anything  ;  do  anything.  We  must 
talk  gold  and  give  iron.  Dost  understand  me  ?  " 

The  earl  did  kiss  the  jewels  upon  the  dread  fingers,  for  only  the 
last  joint  of  each  is  visible,  —  and  surely  no  mortal  was  ever  so 
fool-hardy  as  to  take  such  a  monstrous  liberty  as  touching  it,  except 
in  spirit !  On  the  next  day  there  did  arrive  many  fugitives  from 
Ireland ;  and  among  the  rest  was  Master  Edmund  Spenser,  known 
even  in  those  parts  for  his  rich  vein  of  poetry,  in  which  he  is  de- 
clared by  our  best  judges  to  excel  the  noblest  of  the  ancients,  and 
to  leave  all  the  moderns  at  his  feet.  Whether  he  notified  his  ar- 
rival unto  the  earl,  or  whether  fame  brought  the  notice  thereof  unto 
his  lordship,  Jacob  knovveth  not.  But  early  in  the  morning  did  the 
earl  send  for  Jacob,  and  say  unto  him  :  "  Eldridge,  thou  must  write 
fairly  and  clearly  out,  and  in  somewhat  large  letters,  and  in  lines 
somewhat  wide  apart,  all  that  thou  nearest  of  the  conversation  I 
shall  hold  with  a  gentleman  from  Ireland.  Take  this  gilt  and 
illumined  vellum,  and  albeit  the  civet  make  thee  sick  fifty  times, 
write  upon  it  all  that  passes  !  Come  not  out  of  the  closet  until  the 
gentleman  hath  gone  homeward.  The  Queen  requireth  much  ex- 
actness ;  and  this  is  equally  a  man  of  genius,  a  man  of  business,  and 
a  man  of  worth.  I  expect  from  hi  -n  not  only  what  is  true,  but  what 
is  the  most  important  and  necessary  to  understand  rightly  and  com- 
pletely ;  and  nobody  in  existence  is  more  capable  of  giving  me  both 
information  and  advice.  Perhaps  if  he  thought  another  were  within 
hearing,  he  would  be  offended  or  over-cautious.  His  delicacy  and 
mine  are  warranted  safe  and  sound  by  the  observance  of  those  com- 
mands which  I  am  delivering  unto  thee." 

It  happened  that  no  information  was  given  in  this  conference  re- 
lating to  the  movements  or  designs  of  the  rebels;  so  that  Master 
Jacob  Eldridge  was  left  possessor  of  the  costly  vellum,  which,  now 
Master  Spenser  is  departed  this  life,  I  keep  as  a  memorial  of  him, 
albeit  oftener  than  once  I  have  taken  pounce-box  and  pen-knife  in 
hand  in  order  to  make  it  a  fit  and  proper  vehicle  for  my  own  very 
best  writing.  But  I  pretermitted  it,  finding  that  my  hand  is  no 
longer  the  hand  it  was.  or  rather  that  the  breed  of  geese  is  very 
much  degenerated,  and  that  their  quills,  like  men's  manners,  are 
grown  softer  and  flaccider.  Where  it  will  end  God  only  knows  !  I 
shall  not  live  to  see  it. 

Alas,  poor  Jacob  Eldridge  !  he  little  thought  that  within  twelve 
months  his  glorious  master,  and  the  scarcely  less  glorious  poet, 
would  be  no  more  !  In  the  third  week  of  the  following  year  was 
Master  Edmund  buried  at  the  charges  of  the  earl  ;  and  within  these 
few  days  hath  this  lofty  nobleman  bowed  his  head  under  the  axe  of 
God's  displeasure,  —  such  being  our  gracious  Queen's.  My  kins- 
man Jacob  sent  unto  me  by  the  Alcester  drover,  old  Clem  Fisher, 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  147 

this  among  other  papers,  fearing  the  wrath  of  that  offended  High- 
ness, which  allowed  not  her  own  sweet  disposition  to  question  or 
thwart  the  will  divine.  Jacob  did  likewise  tell  me  in  his  letter  that 
he  was  sure  I  should  be  happy  to  hear  the  success  of  William 
Shakspeare,  our  townsman.  And  in  truth  right  glad  was  I  to  hear 
of  it,  being  a  principal  in  bringing  it  about,  as  those  several  sheets 
will  show  which  have  the  broken  tile  laid  upon  them  to  keep  them 
down  compactly. 

Jacob's  words  are  these:  "  Now  I  speak  of  poets,  you  will  be  in 
a  maze  at  hearing  that  our  townsman  hath  written  a  power  of  mat- 
ter for  the  playhouse.  Neither  he  nor  the  booksellers  think  it 
quite  good  enough  to  print,  but  I  do  assure  you,  on  the  faith  of  a 
Christian,  it  is  not  bad ;  and  there  is  rare  fun  in  the  last  thing  of 
his  about  Venus,  where  a  Jew,  one  Shiloh,  is  choused  out  of  his 
money  and  his  revenge.  However,  the  best  critics  and  the  greatest 
lords  find  fault,  and  very  justly,  in  the  words,  — 

"'  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  dimensions, 
senses,  affections,  passions  ?  fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same 
weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed 
and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian  is  ? ' 

"Surely  this  is  very  unchristianlike.  Nay,  for  supposition  sake, 
suppose  it  to  be  true,  was  it  his  business  to  tell  the  people  so  ? 
Was  it  his  duty  to  ring  the  crier's  bell  and  cry  to  them,  '  The  sorry 
Jews  are  quite  as  much  men  as  you  are  '  ?  The  Church,  luckily, 
has  let  him  alone  for  the  present,  and  the  Queen  winks  upon  it. 
The  best  defence  he  can  make  for  himself  is  that  it  comes  from  the 
mouth  of  a  Jew,  who  says  many  other  things  as  abominable.  Master 
Greene  may  over-rate  him;  but  Master  Greene  declares  that  if 
William  goes  on  improving  and  taking  his  advice,  it  will  be  desper- 
ate hard  work  in  another  seven  years  to  find  so  many  as  haif-a- 
dozen  chaps  equal  to  him  within  the  liberties. 

u  Master  Greene  and  myself  took  him  with  us  to  see  the  burial  of 
Master  Edmund  Spenser  in  Westminster  Abbey,  on  the  igth  of 
January  last.  The  halberdmen  pushed  us  back  as  having  no  busi- 
ness there.  Master  Greene  told  them  he  belonged  to  the  Queen's 
company  of  players.  William  Shakspeare  could  have  said  the  same, 
but  did  not.  And  I,  fearing  that  Master  Greene  and  he  might  be 
halberded  back  into  the  crowd,  showed  the  badge  of  the  Earl  of 
Essex.  Whereupon  did  the  serjeant  ground  his  halberd,  and  say 
unto  me,  *  That  bad^e  commands  admittance  everywhere  :  your 
folk  likewise  may  come  in.' 

"  Master  Greene  was  red-hot  angry,  and  told  me  he  would  bring 
him  before  the  council. 

"  William  smiled,  and  Master  Greene  said,  'Why!  would  not 
you,  if  you  were  in  my  place  ? ' 


148  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 

"  He  replied,  '  I  am  an  half  inclined  to-do  worse,  —  to  bring  him 
before  the  audience  some  spare  hour.' 

"  At  the  close  of  the  burial  service  all  the  poets  of  the  age  threw 
their  pens  into  the  grave,  together  with  the  pieces  they  had  com- 
posed in  praise  or  lamentation  of  the  deceased.  William  Shakspeare 
was  the  only  poet  who  abstained  from  throwing  in  either  pen  or 
poem ;  at  which  no  one  marvelled,  he  being  of  low  estate,  and  the 
others  not  having  yet  taken  him  by  the  hand.  Yet  many  authors 
recognized  him,  not  indeed  as  author,  but  as  player  ;  and  one  civiller 
than  the  rest,  came  up  unto  him  triumphantly,  his  eyes  sparkling 
with  glee  and  satisfaction,  and  said  consolatorily,  '  In  due  time,  my 
honest  friend,  you  may  be  admitted  to  do  as  much  for  one  of  us.' 

"'After  such  encouragement,'  replied  our  townsman,  'I  am 
bound  in  duty  to  give  you  the  preference,  should  I  indeed  be  worthy.' 

"  This  was  the  only  smart  thing  he  uttered  all  the  remainder  of 
the  day ;  during  the  whole  of  it  he  appeared  to  be  half  lost,  I  know 
not  whether  in  melancholy  or  in  meditation,  and  soon  left  us." 

Here  endeth  all  that  my  kinsman  Jacob  wrote  about  William  Shaks- 
peare, saving  and  excepting  his  excuse  for  having  written  so  much. 
The  rest  of  his  letter  was  on  a  matter  of  wider  and  weightier  import ; 
namely,  on  the  price  of  Cotteswolde  cheese  at  Evesham  Fair.  And 
yet,  although  ingenious  men  be  not  among  the  necessaries  of  life, 
there  is  something  in  them  that  makes  us  curious  in  regard  to  their 
goings  and  doings.  It  were  to  be  wished  that  some  of  them  had 
attempted  to  be  better  accountants  ;  and  others  do  appear  to  have 
laid  aside  the  copybook  full  early  in  the  day.  Nevertheless,  they 
have  their  uses  and  their  merits.  Master  Eldridge's  letter  is  the 
wrapper  of  much  wholesome  food  for  contemplation.  Although  the 
decease  (within  so  brief  a  period)  of  such  a  poet  as  Master  Spenser 
and  such  a  patron  as  the  earl  be  unto  us  appalling,  we  laud  and 
magnify  the  great  Disposer  of  events  no  less  for  his  goodness  in 
raising  the  humble  than  for  his  power  in  extinguishing  the  great. 
And  peradventure  ye,  my  heirs  and  descendants,  who  shall  read 
with  due  attention  what  my  pen  now  writeth,  will  say  with  the  royal 
Psalmist  that  it  inditeth  of  a  good  matter  when  it  showeth  unto  you 
that,  whereas  it  pleased  the  Queen's  Highness  to  send  a  great  lord 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  Heaven,  having  fitted  him  by  means 
of  such  earthly  instruments  as  princes  in  like  cases  do  usually  em- 
ploy, and  deeming  (no  doubt)  in  her  princely  heart  that  by  such 
shrewd  tonsure  his  head  would  be  best  fitted  for  a  crown  of  glory, 
and  thus  doing  all  that  she  did  out  of  the  purest  and  most  con- 
siderate love  for  him,  —  it  likewise  hath  pleased  her  Highness  to 
use  her  right  hand  as  freely  as  her  left,  and  to  raise  up  a  second 
burgess  of  our  town  to  be  one  of  her  company  of  players.  And  ye 
also,  by  industry  and  loyalty,  may  cheerfully  hope  for  promotion  in 
your  callings,  and  come  up  (some  of  you)  as  nearly  to  him  in  the 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  149 

presence  of  royalty  as  he  cometh  up  (far  off  indeed  at  present)  to 
the  great  and  wonderful  poet  who  lies  dead  among  more  spices  than 
any  phoenix,  and  more  quills  than  any  porcupine.  If  this  thought 
may  not  prick  and  incitate  you,  little  is  to  be  hoped  from  any  gentle 
admonition  or  any  earnest  expostulation  of 

Your  loving  friend  and  kinsman, 

E.  B. 

ANNO   JET.    SU^E   74,    DOM.    1599, 

UECEMB.    1 6  ; 

GLORIA    DP.    DF.    ET   DSS. 

AMOR    VERSUS   VIRGINEM    REGINAM  ! 

PROTBSTANTICE   LOQUOR   ET   HONESTO  SENSU : 

OBTESTOR   CONSCIENTIAM    MEAM  ! 


EXAMINATION, 

ETC. 


ABOUT  one  hour  before  noontide,  the  youth  William  Shak- 
speare,  accused  of  deer-stealing,  and  apprehended  for  that 
offence,  was  brought  into  the  great  hall  at  Charlecote,  where, 
having  made  his  obeisance,  it  was  most  graciously  permitted 
him  to  stand. 

The  worshipful  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Knight,  seeing  him  right 
opposite  on  the  farther  side  of  the  long  table,  and  fearing  no 
disadvantage,  did  frown  upon  him  with  great  dignity;  then, 
deigning  ne'er  a  word  to  the  culprit,  turned  he  his  face  toward 
his  chaplain  Sir  Silas  Gough,  who  stood  beside  him,  and  said 
unto  him  most  courteously,  and  unlike  unto  one  who  in  his  own 
right  commandeth,  "  Stand  out  of  the  way  !  What  are  those 
two  varlets  bringing  into  the  room?  " 

"  The  table,  sir,"  replied  Master  Silas,  "  upon  the  which  the 
consumption  of  the  venison  was  perpetrated." 

The  youth,  William  Shakspeare,  did  thereupon  pray  and  be- 
seech his  lordship  most  fervently,  in  this  guise  :  "  Oh,  sir !  do 
not  let  him  turn  the  tables  against  me,  who  am  only  a  simple 
stripling,  and  he  an  old  codger." 

But  Master  Silas  did  bite  his  nether  lip,  and  did  cry  aloud, 
"  Look  upon  those  deadly  spots  !  " 

And  his  worship  did  look  thereupon  most  staidly,  and  did 
say  in  the  ear  of  Master  Silas,  but  in  such  wise  that  it  reached 
even  unto  mine,  "  Good  honest  chandlery,  methinks  !  " 

"  God  grant  it  may  turn  out  so  !  "  ejaculated  Master  Silas. 

The  youth,  hearing  these  words,  said  unto  him,  "  I  fear, 
Master  Silas,  gentry  like  you  often  pray  God  to  grant  what  he 
would  rather  not ;  and  now  and  then  what  you  would  rather 
not." 


152  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Silas  was  wroth  at  this  rudeness  of  speech  about  God  in 
the  face  of  a  preacher,  and  said,  reprovingly,  "  Out  upon  thy 
foul  mouth,  knave  !  upon  which  lie  slaughter  and  venison." 

Whereupon  did  William  Shakspeare  sit  mute  awhile,  and 
discomfited  ;  then  turning  toward  Sir  Thomas,  and  looking  and 
speaking  as  one  submiss  and  contrite,  he  thus  appealed  unto 
him,  "  Worshipful  sir  !  were  there  any  signs  of  Venison  on  my 
mouth,  Master  Silas  could  not  for  his  life  cry  out  upon  it,  nor 
help  kissing  it  as  't  were  a  wench's." 

Sir  Thomas  looked  upon  him  with  most  lordly  gravity  and 
wisdom,  and  said  unto  him  in  a  voice  that  might  have  come 
from  the  bench,  "Youth,  thou  speakest  irreverently;"  and 
then  unto  Master  Silas,  "  Silas,  to  the  business  on  hand.  Taste 
the  fat  upon  yon  boor's  table,  which  the  constable  hath  brought 
hither,  good  Master  Silas  !  And  declare  upon  oath,  being  sworn 
in  my  presence,  first,  whether  said  fat  do  proceed  of  venison ; 
secondly,  whether  said  venison  be  of  buck  or  doe." 

Whereupon  the  Reverend  Sir  Silas  did  go  incontinently,  and 
did  bend  forward  his  head,  shoulders,  and  body,  and  did  sever- 
ally taste  four  white  solid  substances  upon  an  oaken  board ; 
said  board  being  about  two  yards  long,  and  one  yard  four 
inches  wide,  found  in,  and  brought  thither  from,  the  tenement 
or  messuage  of  Andrew  Haggit,  who  hath  absconded.  Of  these 
four  white  solid  substances,  two  were  somewhat  larger  than  a 
groat,  and  thicker ;  one  about  the  size  of  King  Henry  VIII.'s 
shilling,  when  our  late  sovereign  lord  of  blessed  memory  was 
toward  the  lustiest ;  and  the  other,  that  is  to  say  the  middle- 
most, did  resemble  in  some  sort  a  mushroom,  not  over  fresh, 
turned  upward  on  its  stalk. 

"  And  what  sayest  thou,  Master  Silas?  "  quoth  the  knight. 

In  reply  whereunto  Sir  Silas  thus  averred  :  — 

"  Venison  !  o'  my  conscience  ! 
Buck  !  or  burn  me  alive  ! 

The  three  splashes  in  the  circumference  are  verily  and  indeed 
venison ;  buck,  moreover,  and  Charlecote  buck,  upon  my 
oath  !  " 

Then,  carefully  tasting  the  protuberance  in  the  centre,  he 
spat  it  out  crying,  "  Pho  !  pho  !  villain  !  villain  !  "  and  shaking 
his  fist  at  the  culprit. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SH AKSl'EARE.  153 

Whereat  the  said  culprit  smiled  and  winked,  and  said 
off-hand,  "  Save  thy  spittle,  Master  Silas  !  It  would  supply  a 
gaudy  mess  to  the  hungriest  litter ;  but  it  would  turn  them 
from  whelps  into  wolvets.  'T  is  pity  to  throw  the  best  of  thee 
away.  Nothing  comes  out  of  thy  mouth  that  is  not  savory  and 
solid,  bating  thy  wit,  thy  sermons,  and  thy  promises." 

It  was  my  duty  to  write  down  the  very  words,  irreverent  as 
they  are,  being  so  commanded.  More  of  the  like,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  would  have  ensued,  but  that  Sir  Thomas  did  check 
him,  saying  shrewdly,  "  Young  man,  I  perceive  that  if  I  do 
not  stop  thee  in  thy  courses,  thy  name  being  involved  in  thy 
company's  may  one  day  or  other  reach  across  the  county ;  and 
folks  may  handle  it  and  turn  it  about  as  it  deserveth,  from 
Coleshill  to  Nuneaton,  from  Bromwicham  to  Brownsover.  And 
who  knoweth  but  that,  years  after  thy  death,  the  very  house 
wherein  thou  wert  born  may  be  pointed  at  and  commented  on 
by  knots  of  people,  gentle  and  simple  ?  What  a  shame  for  an 
honest  man's  son  !  Thanks  to  me,  who  consider  of  measures 
to  prevent  it !  Posterity  shall  laud  and  glorify  me  for  plucking 
thee  clean  out  of  her  head,  and  for  picking  up  timely  a  ticklish 
skittle,  that  might  overthrow  with  it  a  power  of  others  just  as 
light.  I  will  rid  the  hundred  of  thee  with  God's  blessing  !  nay, 
the  whole  shire  !  We  will  have  none  such  in  our  county ;  we 
justices  are  agreed  upon  it,  and  we  will  keep  our  word  now 
and  forever  more.  Woe  betide  any  that  resembles  thee  in  any 
part  of  him  !  " 

Whereunto  Sir  Silas  added,  "We  will  dog  him  and  worry 
him  and  haunt  him  and  bedevil  him  ;  and  if  ever  he  hear  a 
comfortable  word,  it  shall  be  in  a  language  very  different  from 
his  own." 

"  As  different  as  thine  is  from  a  Christian's,"  said  the 
youth. 

"  Boy,  thou  art  slow  of  apprehension,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  with 
much  gravity,  and  taking  up  the  cue  did  rejoin  :  "  Master 
Silas  would  impress  upon  thy  ductile  and  tender  mind  the 
danger  of  evil  doing  ;  that  we,  —  in  other  words,  that  justice  is 
resolved  to  follow  him  up,  even  beyond  his  country,  where  he 
shall  hear  nothing  better  than  the  Italian  or  the  Spanish  or 
the  black  language,  or  the  language  of  Turk  or  Troubadour,  or 
Tartar  or  Mongol.  And  forsooth,  for  this  gentle  and  indirect 


154  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

reproof,  a  gentleman  in  priest's  orders  is  told  by  a  stripling  that 
he  lacketh  Christianity  !  Who  then  shall  give  it?  " 

Shakspeare.  Who,  indeed,  when  the  founder  of  the  feast 
leaveth  an  invited  guest  so  empty?  Yea,  sir,  the  guest  was 
invited,  and  the  board  was  spread.  The  fruits  that  lay  upon  it 
be  there  still,  and  fresh  as  ever ;  and  the  bread  of  life  in  those 
capacious  canisters  is  unconsumed  and  unbroken. 

Sir  Silas  (aside) .  The  knave  maketh  me  hungry  with  his 
mischievous  similitudes. 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  hast  aggravated  thy  offence,  Will  Shak- 
speare  !  Irreverent  caitiff !  is  this  a  discourse  for  my  chaplain 
and  clerk?  Can  he  or  the  worthy  scribe  Ephraim  [his  wor- 
ship was  pleased  to  call  me  worthy]  write  down  such  words  as 
those,  about  litter  and  wolvets,  for  the  perusal  and  meditation 
of  the  grand  jury?  If  the  whole  corporation  of  Stratford  had 
not  unanimously  given  it  against  thee,  still  his  tongue  would 
catch  thee,  as  the  evet  catcheth  a  gnat.  Know,  sirrah,  the 
reverend  Sir  Silas,  albeit  ill  appointed  for  riding,  and  not  over 
fond  of  it,  goeth  to  every  house  wherein  is  a  venison  feast  for 
thirty  miles  round.  Not  a  buck's  hoof  on  any  stable-door  but 
it  awakeneth  his  recollections  like  a  red  letter. 

—  This  wholesome  reproof  did  bring  the  youth  back  again 
to  his  right  senses ;  and  then  said  he,  with  contrition  and  with 
a  wisdom  beyond  his  years,  and  little  to  be  expected  from  one 
who  had  spoken  just  before  so  unadvisedly  and  rashly,  "  Well  do 
I  know  it,  your  worship  !  And  verily  do  I  believe  that  a  bone 
of  one,  being  shovelled  among  the  soil  upon  his  coffin,  would 
forthwith  quicken 1  him.  Sooth  to  say,  there  is  ne'er  a  buck- 
hound  in  the  county  but  he  treateth  him  as  a  godchild,  patting 
him  on  the  head,  soothing  his  velvety  ear  between  thumb  and 
forefinger,  ejecting  tick  from  tenement,  calling  him  '  fine  fel- 
low,' '  noble  lad,'  and  giving  him  his  blessing,  as  one  dearer  to 
him  than  a  king's  death  to  a  debtor,2  or  a  bastard  to  a  dad 
of  eighty.  This  is  the  only  kindness  I  ever  heard  of  Master 
Silas  toward  his  fellow- creatures.  Never  hold  me  unjust,  Sir 
Knight,  to  Master  Silas.  Could  I  learn  other  good  of  him,  I 
would  freely  say  it ;  for  we  do  good  by  speaking  it,  and  none 

1  "Quicken,"  bring  to  life. 

2  Debtors  were  often  let  out  of  prison  at  the  coronation  of  a  new  king, 
but  creditors  never  paid  by  him. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  155 

is  easier.  Even  bad  men  are  not  bad  men  while  they  praise 
the  just.  Their  first  step  backward  is  more  troublesome  and 
wrenching  to  them  than  the  first  forward." 

"  In  God's  name,  where  did  he  gather  all  this?"  whispered 
his  worship  to  the  chaplain,  by  whose  side  I  was  sitting. 
"  Why,  he  talks  like  a  man  of  forty-seven  or  more  !  " 

"  I  doubt  his  sincerity,  sir  !  "  replied  the  chaplain.  "  His 
words  are  fairer  now —  Devil  choke  him  for  them  !"  inter- 
jected he  in  an  undervoice  —  "  and  almost  book- worthy ;  but 
out  of  place.  What  the  scurvy  cur  yelped  against  me,  I  for- 
give him  as  a  Christian.  Murrain  upon  such  varlet  vermin  ! 
It  is  but  of  late  years  that  dignities  have  come  to  be  reviled  ; 
the  other  parts  of  the  gospel  were  broken  long  before, — 
this  was  left  us;  and  now  this  likewise  is  to  be  kicked 
out  of  doors,  amid  the  mutterings  of  such  moon-calves  as 
him  yonder." 

"  Too  true,  Silas,"  said  the  knight,  sighing  deeply.  "  Things 
are  not  as  they  were  in  our  glorious  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster. 
The  knaves  were  thinned  then,  —  two  or  three  crops  a  year  of 
that  rank  squitch-grass  which  it  has  become  the  fashion  of  late 
to  call  the  people.  There  was  some  difference  then  between 
buff  doublets  and  iron  mail,  and  the  rogues  felt  it.  Well-a- 
day !  we  must  bear  what  God  willeth,  and  never  repine,  al- 
though it  gives  a  man  the  heart-ache.  We  are  bound  in  duty 
to  keep  these  things  for  the  closet,  and  to  tell  God  of  them 
only  when  we  call  upon  his  holy  name,  and  have  him  quite  by 
ourselves." 

Sir  Silas  looked  discontented  and  impatient,  and  said  snap- 
pishly, "  Cast  we  off  here,  or  we  shall  be  at  fault.  Start  him, 
sir  !  prythee,  start  him  !  " 

Again  his  worship,  Sir  Thomas,  did  look  gravely  and  grandly, 
and  taking  a  scrap  of  paper  out  of  the  Holy  Book  then  lying 
before  him,  did  read  distinctly  these  words  :  "  Providence  hath 
sent  Master  Silas  back  hither  this  morning  to  confound  thee  in 
thy  guilt." 

Again,  with  all  the  courage  and  composure  of  an  innocent 
man,  and  indeed  with  more  than  what  an  innocent  man  ought 
to  possess  in  the  presence  of  a  magistrate,  the  youngster  said, 
pointing  toward  Master  Silas,  "  The  first  moment  he  ventureth 
to  lift  up  his  visage  from  the  table,  hath  Providence  marked 


156  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

him  miraculously.  I  have  heard  of  black  malice.  How  many 
of  our  words  have  more  in  them  than  we  think  of !  Give  a 
countryman  a  plough  of  silver,  and  he  will  plough  with  it  all 
the  season,  and  never  know  its  substance.  'T  is  thus  with  our 
daily  speech.  What  riches  lie  hidden  in  the  vulgar  tongue  of 
the  poorest  and  most  ignorant !  What  flowers  of  Paradise  lie 
under  our  feet,  with  their  beauties  and  parts  undistinguished 
and  undiscerned,  from  having  been  daily  trodden  on  !  Oh, 
sir,  look  you,  —  but  let  me  cover  my  eyes  !  —  look  at  his  lips  ! 
Gracious  Heaven  !  they  were  not  thus  when  he  entered  :  they 
are  blacker  now  than  Harry  Tewe's  bull-bitch's  !  " 

Master  Silas  did  lift  up  his  eyes  in  astonishment  and  wrath ; 
and  his  worship  Sir  Thomas  did  open  his  wider  and  wider,  and 
cried  by  fits  and  starts,  "  Gramercy  !  true  enough  !  nay,  afore 
God,  too  true  by  half !  I  never  saw  the  like  !  Who  would  be- 
lieve it  ?  I  wish  I  were  fairly  rid  of  this  examination,  —  my 
hands  washed  clean  thereof !  Another  time  !  anon  !  We  have 
our  quarterly  sessions  !  We  are  many  together ;  at  present  I 
remand  —  " 

And  now,  indeed,  unless  Sir  Silas  had  taken  his  worship  by 
the  sleeve,  he  would  mayhap  have  remanded  the  lad.  But  Sir 
Silas,  still  holding  the  sleeve  and  shaking  it,  said  hurriedly, 
"  Let  me  entreat  your  worship  to  ponder.  What  black  does 
the  fellow  talk  of?  My  blood  and  bile  rose  up  against  the 
rogue ;  but  surely  I  did  not  turn  black  in  the  face,  or  in  the 
mouth,  as  the  fellow  calls  it?" 

Whether  Master  Silas  had  some  suspicion  and  inkling  of  the 
cause  or  not,  he  rubbed  his  right  hand  along  his  face  and  lips, 
and  looking  upon  it,  cried  aloud,  "  Ho,  ho  !  is  it  off?  There 
is  some  upon  my  finger's  end,  I  find.  Now  I  have  it ;  ay,  there 
it  is.  That  large  splash  upcn  the  centre  of  the  table  is  tallow, 
by  my  salvation  !  The  profligates  sat  up  until  the  candle 
burned  out,  and  the  last  of  it  ran  through  the  socket  upon  the 
board.  We  knew  it  before.  I  did  convey  into  my  mouth  both 
fat  and  smut !  " 

"  Many  of  your  cloth  and  kidney  do  that,  good  Master 
Silas,  and  make  no  wry  faces  about  it,"  quoth  the  youngster, 
with  indiscreet  merriment,  although  short  of  laughter,  as  be- 
came him,  who  had  already  stepped  too  far,  and  reached  the 
mire. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  157 

To  save  paper  and  time,  I  shall  now,  for  the  most  part,  write 
only  what  they  all  said,  not  saying  that  they  said  it,  and  just 
copying  out  in  my  clearest  hand  what  fell  respectively  from 
their  mouths. 

Sir  Silas.  I  did  indeed  spit  it  forth,  and  emunge  my  lips, 
as  who  should  not? 

Shakspeare.     Would  it  were  so  ! 

Sir  Silas.     "  Would  it  were  so  !  "  in  thy  teeth,  hypocrite  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  And  truly  I  likewise  do  incline  to  hope  and 
credit  it,  as  thus  paraphrased  and  expounded. 

Shakspeare.  Wait  until  this  blessed  day  next  year,  sir,  at 
the  same  hour.  You  shall  see  it  forth  again  at  its  due  season ; 
it  would  be  no  miracle  if  it  lasted.  Spittle  may  cure  sore  eyes, 
but  not  blasted  mouths  and  scald  consciences. 

Sir  Thomas.     Why,  who  taught  thee  all  this? 

—  Then  turned  he  leisurely  toward  Sir  Silas,  and  placing  his 
hand  outspredden  upon  the  arm  of  the  chaplain,  said  unto  him 
in  a  low,  judicial,  hollow  voice,  "  Every  word  true  and  solemn  ! 
I  have  heard  less  wise  saws  from  between  black  covers." 

Sir  Silas  was  indignant  at  this  under-rating,  as  he  appeared 
to  think  it,  of  the  Church  and  its  ministry,  and  answered  im- 
patiently, with  Christian  freedom,  "Your  worship  surely  will 
not  listen  to  this  wild  wizard  in  his  brothel-pulpit !  " 

Shakspeare.  Do  I  live  to  hear  Charlecote  Hall  called  a 
brothel-pulpit !  Alas,  then,  I  have  lived  too  long  ! 

Sir  Silas.     We  will  try  to  amend  that  for  thee. 

—  William  seemed  not  to  hear  him,  loudly  as  he  spake  and 
pointedly  unto  the   youngster,  who   wiped    his  eyes,  crying, 
"  Commit  me,  sir  !  in  mercy  commit  me,  Master  Ephraim  ! 

0  Master  Ephraim  !     A  guiltless  man  may  feel  all  the  pangs 
of  the  guilty  !     Is  it  you  who  are  to  make  out  the  commit- 
ment?    Dispatch  !   dispatch  !     I  am  a-weary  of  my  life.     If 

1  dared  to  lie  I  would  plead  guilty." 

Sir  Thomas.  Heyday  !  No  wonder,  Master  Ephraim,  thy 
entrails  are  moved  and  wamble.  Dost  weep,  lad  ?  Nay,  nay  ! 
thou  bearest  up  bravely.  Silas,  I  now  find,  although  the  ex- 
ample come  before  me  from  humble  life,  that  what  my  mother 
said  was  true,  —  't  was  upon  my  father's  demise  :  "  In  great 
grief  there  are  few  tears." 

Upon  which  did  the  youth,  Willy  Shakspeare,  jog  himself  by 


158  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE. 

the  memory,  and  repeat  these  short  verses,  not  wide  from  the 
same  purport :  — 

"  There  are,  alas,  some  depths  of  woe 
Too  vast  for  tears  to  overflow." 

Sir  Thomas.  Let  those  who  are  sadly  vexed  in  spirit  mind 
that  notion,  whoever  indited  it,  and  be  men.  I  always  was ; 
but  some  little  griefs  have  pinched  me  woundily. 

—  Master  Silas  grew  impatient,  for  he  had  ridden  hard  that 
morning,  and  had  no  cushion  upon  his  seat,  as  Sir  Thomas  had. 
I  have  seen  in  my  time  that  he  who  is  seated  on  beech-wood 
hath  very  different  thoughts  and  moralities  from  him  who  is 
seated  on  goose- feathers  under  doe-skin.     But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there  ;  albeit  an  I  die,  as  I  must,  my  heirs,  Judith  and 
her  boy  Elijah,  may  note  it. 

Master  Silas,  as  above,  looked  sourishly,  and  cried  aloud, 
"  The  witnesses  !  the  witnesses  !  Testimony  !  testimony  !  We 
shall  now  see  whose  black  goes  deepest.  There  is  a  fork  to  be 
had  that  can  hold  the  slipperiest  eel,  and  a  finger  that  can 
strip  the  slimiest.  I  cry  your  worship  to  the  witnesses." 

Sir  Thomas.  Ay,  indeed,  we  are  losing  the  day ;  it  wastes 
toward  noon,  and  nothing  done.  Call  the  witnesses.  How 
are  they  called  by  name?  Give  me  the  paper. 

—  The  paper  being  forthwith  delivered   into  his  worship's 
hand  by  the  learned  clerk,  his  worship  did  read  aloud  the  name 
of  Euseby  Treen.     Whereupon  did  Euseby  Treen  come  forth 
through  the  great  hall-door,  which  was  ajar,  and  answer  most 
audibly,  "  Your  worship  !  " 

Straightway  did  Sir  Thomas  read  aloud,  in  like  form  and 
manner,  the  name  of  Joseph  Carnaby ;  and  in  like  manner,  as 
aforesaid,  did  Joseph  Carnaby  make  answer  and  say,  "  Your 
worship  !  " 

Lastly  did  Sir  Thomas  turn  the  light  of  his  countenance  on 
William  Shakspeare,  saying,  "  Thou  seest  these  good  men  de- 
ponents against  thee,  William  Shakspeare." 

And  then  did  Sir  Thomas  pause.  And  pending  this  pause, 
did  William  Shakspeare  look  steadfastly  in  the  faces  of  both ; 
and  stroking  down  his  own  with  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  frorri  the 
jaw-bone  to  the  chin-point,  said  unto  his  honor,  — 

"  Faith  !  it  would  give  me  much  pleasure,  and  the  neighbor- 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  159 

hood  much  vantage,  to  see  these  two  fellows  good  men.  Joseph 
Carnaby  and  Euseby  Treen  !  Why,  your  worship,  they  know 
every  hare's  form  in  Luddington-field  better  than  their  own 
beds,  and  as  well  pretty  nigh  as  any  wench's  in  the  parish." 

Then  turned  he,  with  jocular  scoff,  unto  Joseph  Carnaby, 
thus  accosting  him  whom  his  shirt,  being  made  stiffer  than  usual 
f  jr  the  occasion,  rubbed  and  frayed  :  "  Ay,  Joseph,  smoothen 
and  soothe  thy  collar-piece  again  and  again  !  Hark  ye,  I  know 
what  smock  that  was  knavishly  cut  from." 

Master  Silas  rose  up  in  high  choler,  and  said  unto  Sir  Thomas, 
"  Sir,  do  not  listen  to  that  lewd  reviler  !  I  wager  ten  groats  I 
prove  him  to  be  wrong  in  his  scent.  Joseph  Carnaby  is  right- 
eous and  discreet." 

Shakspeare.  By  daylight  and  before  the  parson.  Bears  and 
boars  are  tame  creatures  and  discreet  in  the  sunshine  and  after 
dinner. 

Treen.     I  do  know  his  down-goings  and  up-risings. 

Shakspeare.  The  man  and  his  wife  are  one,  saith  Holy 
Scripture. 

Treen.  A  sober-paced  and  rigid  man,  if  such  there  be. 
Few  keep  Lent  like  unto  him. 

Shakspeare.     I  warrant  him,  both  lent  and  stolen. 

Sir  Thomas.  Peace,  and  silence  !  Now,  Joseph  Carnaby, 
do  thou  depose  on  particulars. 

Carnaby.  May  it  please  your  worship,  I  was  returning  from 
Hampton  upon  Allhallowmas  Eve,  between  the  hours  of  ten  and 
eleven  at  night,  in  company  with  Master  Euseby  Treen ;  and 
when  we  came  to  the  bottom  of  Mickle  Meadow,  we  heard 
several  men  in  discourse.  I  plucked  Euseby  Treen  by  the 
doublet,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Euseby  !  Euseby  !  let  us 
slink  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  elms  and  willows." 

Treen.     Willows  and  elm-trees  were  the  words. 

Shakspeare.  See,  your  worship,  what  discordances  !  They 
cannot  agree  in  their  own  story. 

Sir  Silas.     The  same  thing,  the  same  thing,  in  the  main  ! 

Shakspeare.  By  less  differences  than  this  estates  have  been 
lost,  hearts  broken,  and  England,  our  country,  rilled  with  home- 
less, helpless,  destitute  orphans.  I  protest  against  it ! 

Sir  Silas.  Protest,  indeed  !  He  talks  as  if  he  were  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Lords.  They  alone  can  protest. 


l60  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.  Your  attorney  may  object,  not  protest,  before 
the  lord  judge.  Proceed  you,  Joseph  Carnaby. 

Carnaby.  In  the  shadow  of  the  willows  and  elm-trees 
then  — 

Shakspeare.  No  hints,  no  conspiracies  !  Keep  to  your  own 
story,  man,  and  do  not  borrow  his. 

Sir  Silas.  I  overrule  the  objection.  Nothing  can  be  more 
futile  and  frivolous. 

Shakspeare.  So  learned  a  magistrate  as  your  worship  will 
surely  do  me  justice  by  hearing  me  attentively.  I  am  young  ; 
nevertheless,  having  more  than  one  year  written  in  the  office  of 
an  attorney,  and  having  heard  and  listened  to  many  discourses 
and  questions  on  law,  I  cannot  but  remember  the  heavy  fine  in- 
flicted on  a  gentleman  of  this  county  who  committed  a  poor  man 
to  prison  for  being  in  possession  of  a  hare,  —  it  being  proved 
that  the  hare  was  in  his  possession,  and  not  he  in  the  hare's. 

Sir  Silas.     Synonymous  term  !  synonymous  term  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  In  what  term  sayest  thou  was  it?  I  do  not 
remember  the  case. 

Sir  Silas.  Mere  quibble  \  mere  equivocation  !  Jesuitical ! 
Jesuitical ! 

Shakspeare.  It  would  be  Jesuitical,  Sir  Silas,  if  it  dragged 
the  law  by  its  perversions  to  the  side  of  oppression  and  cruelty. 
The  order  of  Jesuits,  I  fear,  is  as  numerous  as  its  tenets  are  lax 
and  comprehensive.  I  am  sorry  to  see  their  frocks  flounced 
with  English  serge. 

Sir  Silas.     I  don't  understand  thee,  viper  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  Cease  thou,  Will  Shakspeare  !  Know  thy 
place  !  And  do  thou,  Joseph  Carnaby,  take  up  again  the  thread 
of  thy  testimony. 

Carnaby.  We  were  still  at  some  distance  from  the  party, 
when  on  a  sudden  Euseby  hung  an  — J 

Sir  Thomas.  As  well  write  "  drew  back,"  Master  Ephraim 
and  Master  Silas  !  Be  circumspecter  in  speech,  Master  Joseph 
Carnaby  !  I  did  not  look  for  such  rude  phrases  from  that 
starch-warehouse  under  thy  chin.  Continue,  man  ! 

Carnaby.  "  Euseby,"  said  I  in  his  ear,  "  what  ails  thee, 
Euseby?"  "I  wag  no  farther,"  quoth  he.  "What  a  number 
of  names  and  voices  !  " 

1  The  word  here  omitted  is  quite  illegible. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  l6l 

Sir  Thomas.  Dreadful  gang !  a  number  of  names  and 
voices  !  Had  it  been  any  other  day  in  the  year  but  Allhallow- 
mas  Eve  !  To  steal  a  buck  upon  such  a  day  !  Well,  God  may 
pardon  even  that.  Go  on,  go  on  !  But  the  laws  of  our  country 
must  have  their  satisfaction  and  atonement.  Were  it  upon 
any  other  day  in  the  calendar  less  holy,  the  buck  were  nothing, 
or  next  to  nothing,  saving  the  law  and  our  conscience  and  our 
good  report.  Yet  we,  her  Majesty's  justices,  must  stand  in 
the  gap,  body  and  soul,  against  evil-doers.  Now  do  thou,  in 
furtherance  of  this  business,  give  thine  aid  unto  us,  Joseph 
Carnaby ;  remembering  that  mine  eye  from  this  judgment- 
seat,  and  her  Majesty's  bright  and  glorious  one  overlooking 
the  whole  realm,  and  the  broader  of  God  above,  are  upon 
thee. 

—  Carnaby  did  quail  a  matter  at  these  words  about  the  judg- 
ment-seat and  the  broad  eye,  —  aptly  and  gravely  delivered  by 
him,  moreover,  who  hath  to  administer  truth  and  righteousness 
in  our  ancient  and  venerable  laws,  and  especially  at  the  present 
juncture  in  those  against  park-breaking  and  deer-stealing.  But 
finally,  nought  discomfited,  and  putting  his  hand  valiantly 
atwixt  hip  and  midriff,  so  that  his  elbow  well-nigh  touched  the 
taller  pen  in  the  ink-pot,  he  went  on. 

Carnaby.  "  In  the  shadow  of  the  willows  and  elm-trees," 
said  he,  "  and  get  nearer  !  "  We  were  still  at  some  distance, 
may  be  a  score  of  furlongs,  from  the  party  — 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  hast  said  it  already,  all  save  the  score 
of  furlongs.  Hast  room  for  them,  Master  Silas  ? 

Sir  Silas.  Yea,  and  would  make  room  for  fifty  to  let  the 
fellow  swing  at  his  ease. 

Sir  Thomas.     Hast  room,  Master  Ephraim  ? 

"  T  is  done,  most  worshipful,"  said  I.  The  learned  knight 
did  not  recollect  that  I  could  put  fifty  furlongs  in  a  needle's 
eye,  give  me  pen  fine  enough.  But  far  be  it  from  me  to  vaunt 
of  my  penmanship,  although  there  be  those  who  do  malign  it, 
even  in  my  own  township  and  parish  ;  yet  they  never  have  un- 
perched  me  from  my  calling,  and  have  had  hard  work  to  take 
an  idle  wench  or  two  from  under  me  on  Saturday  nights. 

I  memorize  thus  much,  not  out  of  any  malice  or  any  sore- 
ness about  me,  but  that  those  of  my  kindred  into  whose  hands 
it  please  God  these  papers  do  fall  hereafter  may  bear  up  stoutly 


1 62  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

in  such  straits :  and  if  they  be  good  at  the  cudgel,  that  they, 
looking  first  at  their  man,  do  give  it  him  heartily  and  unspar- 
ingly, keeping  within  law. 

Sir  Thomas,  having  overlooked  what  we  had  written,  and 
meditated  awhile  thereupon,  said  unto  Joseph  :  "  It  appeareth 
by  thy  testimony  that  there  was  a  huge  and  desperate  gang  of 
them  a-foot.  Revengeful  dogs !  it  is  difficult  to  deal  with 
them.  The  laws  forbid  precipitancy  and  violence.  A  dozen  or 
two  may  return  and  harm  me ;  not  me  indeed,  but  my  tenants 
and  servants.  I  would  fain  act  with  prudence,  and  like  unto 
him  who  looketh  abroad.  He  must  tie  his  shoe  tightly  who 
passeth  through  mire ;  he  must  step  softly  who  steppeth  over 
stones  ;  he  must  walk  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  (which,  without 
a  brag,  I  do  at  this  present  feel  upon  me)  who  hopeth  to  reach 
the  end  of  the  straightest  road  in  safety." 

Sir  Sitas.  Tut,  tut !  your  worship.  Her  Majesty's  deputy 
hath  matchlocks  and  halters  at  a  knight's  disposal,  or  the 
world  were  topsy-turvy  indeed. 

Sir  Thomas.  My  mental  ejaculations,  and  an  influx  of 
grace  thereupon,  have  shaken  and  washed  from  my  brain  all 
thy  last  words,  good  Joseph.  Thy  companion  here,  Euseby 
Treen,  said  unto  thee  —  ay  ? 

Carnaby.  Said  unto  me,  "What  a  number  of  names  and 
voices  !  And  there  be  but  three  living  men  in  all !  And  look 
again  !  Christ  deliver  us  !  all  the  shadows  save  one  go  left- 
ward :  that  one  lieth  right  upon  the  river.  It  seemeth  a  big 
squat  monster,  shaking  a  little,  as  one  ready  to  spring  upon  its 
prey." 

Sir  Thomas.  A  dead  man  in  his  last  agonies,  no  doubt. 
Your  deer-stealer  doth  boggle  at  nothing :  he  hath  alway  the 
knife  in  doublet  and  the  Devil  at  elbow.  I  wot  not  of  any 
keeper  killed  or  missing.  To  lose  one's  deer  and  keeper  too 
were  overmuch.  Do,  in  God's  merciful  name,  hand  unto  me 
a  glass  of  sack,  Master  Silas  J  I  wax  faintish-at  the  big  squat 
man :  he  hath  harmed  not  only  me,  but  mine.  Furthermore, 
the  examination  is  grown  so  long. 

—  Then  was  the  wine  delivered  by  Sir  Silas  into  the  hand  of 
his  worship,  who  drank  it  off  in  a  beaker  of  about  half  a  pint, 
but  little  to  his  satisfaction ;  for  he  said  shortly  afterward  : 
"Hast  thou  poured  no  water  into  the  sack,  good  Master  Silas? 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  163 

It  seemeth  weaker  and  washier  than  ordinary,  and  affordeth 
small  comfort  unto  the  breast  and  stomach." 

Sir  Silas.  Not  I,  truly,  sir ;  and  the  bottle  is  a  fresh  and 
sound  one.  The  cork  reported  on  drawing,  as  the  best  diver 
doth  on  sousing  from  Warwick  bridge  into  Avon.  A  rare 
cork  !  as  bright  as  the  glass  bottle,  and  as  smooth  as  the  lips 
of  any  cow. 

Sir  Thomas.  My  mouth  is  out  of  taste  this  morning ;  or 
the  same  wine,  mayhap,  hath  a  different  force  and  flavor  in  the 
dining-room  and  among  friends.  But  to  business.  What 
more? 

Carnaby.  "  Euseby  Treen,  what  may  it  be?"  said  I.  "I 
know,"  quoth  he,  "  but  dare  not  breathe  it." 

Sir  Thomas.  I  thought  I  had  taken  a  glass  of  wine,  verily. 
Attention  to  my  duty  as  a  magistrate  is  paramount.  I  mind 
nothing  else  when  that  lies  before  me.  Carnaby,  I  credit  thy 
honesty,  but  doubt  thy  manhood.  Why  not  breathe  it  with  a 
vengeance  ? 

Carnaby.     It  was  Euseby  who  dared  not. 

Sir  Thomas.  Stand  still ;  say  nothing  yet ;  mind  my  orders  ; 
fair  and  softly ;  compose  thyself. 

— They  all  stood  silent  for  some  time,  and  looked  very  com- 
posed, awaiting  the  commands  of  the  knight.  His  mind  was 
clearly  in  such  a  state  of  devotion  that  peradventure  he  might 
not  have  descended  for  a  while  longer  to  his  mundane  duties, 
had  not  Master  Silas  told  him  that,  under  the  shadow  of  his 
wing,  their  courage  had  returned,  and  they  were  quite  com- 
posed again. 

"You  may  proceed,"  said  the  knight. 

Carnaby.  Master  Treen  did  take  off  his  cap  and  wipe  his 
forehead.  I,  for  the  sake  of  comforting  him  in  this  his  heavi- 
ness, placed  my  hand  upon  his  crown ;  and  truly  I  might  have 
taken  it  for  a  tuft  of  bents,  —  the  hair  on  end,  the  skin  immov- 
able as  God's  earth. 

— Sir  Thomas  hearing  these  words,  lifted  up  his  hands  above 
his  own  head,  and  in  the  loudest  voice  he  had  yet  uttered  did 
he  cry,  "  Wonderful  are  thy  ways  in  Israel,  O  Lord  ! " 

So  saying,  the  pious  knight  did  strike  his  knee  with  the  palm 
of  his  right  hand ;  and  then  gave  he  a  sign,  bowing  his  head 
and  closing  his  eyes,  by  which  Master  Carnaby  did  think  he 


164  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

signified  his  pleasure  that  he  should  go  on  deposing,  and  he 
went  on  thus  :  — 

Carnaby.  At  this  moment  one  of  the  accomplices  cried, 
"  Willy,  Willy  !  prythee  stop  !  enough  in  all  conscience  !  First 
thou  divertedst  us  from  our  undertaking  with  thy  strange  vaga- 
ries, thy  Italian  girl's  nursery  sighs,  thy  pucks  and  pinchings, 
and  thy  Windsor  whimsies.  No  kitten  upon  a  bed  of  marum 
ever  played  such  antics.  It  was  summer  and  winter,  night  and 
day  with  us,  within  the  hour ;  and  in  such  religion  did  we  think 
and  feel  it,  we  would  have  broken  the  man's  jaw  who  gainsaid 
it.  We  have  slept  with  thee  under  the  oaks  in  the  ancient  forest 
of  Arden,  and  we  have  wakened  from  our  sleep  in  the  tempest 
far  at  sea.1  Now  art  thou  for  frightening  us  again  out  of  all 
the  senses  thou  hadst  given  us,  with  witches  and  women  more 
murderous  than  they." 

Then  followed  a  deeper  voice  :  "  Stouter  men  and  more 
resolute  are  few ;  but  thou,  my  lad,  hast  words  too  weighty 
for  flesh  and  bones  to  bear  up  against.  And  who  knows  but 
these  creatures  may  pop  among  us  at  last,  as  the  wolf  did, 
sure  enough,  Mpon  him  the  noisy  rogue  who  so  long  had  been 
crying  wolf 7  and  wolf !  " 

Sir  Thomas.  Well  spoken,  for  two  thieves ;  albeit  I  miss 
the  meaning  of  the  most  part.  Did  they  prevail  with  the 
scapegrace,  and  stop  him? 

Carnaby.  The  last  who  had  spoken  did  slap  him  on  the 
shoulder,  saying,  "Jump  into  the  punt,  lad,  and  across!" 
Thereupon  did  Will  Shakspeare  jump  into  said  punt,  and 
begin  to  sing  a  song  about  a  mermaid. 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  is  this  credible?  I  will  be  sworn  I  never 
saw  one,  and  verily  do  believe  that  scarcely  one  in  a  hundred 
years  doth  venture  so  far  up  the  Avon. 

Sir  Thomas.  There  is  something  in  this.  Thou  mayest 
have  sung  about  one,  nevertheless.  Young  poets  take  great 
liberties  with  all  female  kind  ;  not  that  mermaids  are  such  very 
unlawful  game  for  them,  and  there  be  songs  even  about  worse 
and  staler  fish.  Mind  ye  that !  Thou  hast  written  songs  and 
hast  sung  them,  and  lewd  enough  they  be,  God  wot ! 

1  By  this  deposition  it  would  appear  that  Shakspeare  had  formed  the 
idea,  if  not  the  outline,  of  several  plays  already,  much  as  he  altered  them 
no  doubt  in  after-life. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  165 

Shakspeare.  Pardon  me,  your  worship  ;  they  were  not  mine 
then.  Peradventure  'the  song  about  the  mermaid  may  have 
been  that  ancient  one  which  every  boy  in  most  parishes  has 
been  singing  for  many  years,  and  perhaps  his  father  before 
him ;  and  somebody  was  singing  it  then,  mayhap,  to  keep  up 
his  courage  in  the  night. 

Sir  Thomas.     I  never  heard  it. 

Shakspeare.  Nobody  would  dare  to  sing  in  the  presence 
of  your  worship  unless  commanded ;  not  even  the  mermaid 
herself. 

Sir  Thomas.     Canst  thou  sing  it? 

Shakspeare.     Verily,  I  can  sing  nothing. 

Sir  Thomas.     Canst  thou  repeat  it  from  memory? 

Shakspeare.  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  thought  about  it  that 
I  may  fail  in  the  attempt. 

Sir  Thomas.     Try,  however. 

Shakspeare,  — 

The  mermaid  sat  upon  the  rocks 

All  day  long, 
Admiring  her  beauty  and  combing  her  locks, 

And  singing  a  mermaid  song. 

Sir  Thomas.  What  was  it,  what  was  it?  I  thought  as 
much.  There  thou  standest  like  a  woodpecker,  chattering 
and  chattering,  breaking  the  bark  with  thy  beak,  and  leaving 
the  grub  where  it  was.  This  is  enough  to  put  a  saint  out  of 
patience. 

Shakspeare.  The  wishes  of  your  worship  possess  a  mys- 
terious influence  !  I  now  remember  all :  — 

And  hear  the  mermaid's  song  you  may, 

As  sure  as  sure  can  be, 
If  you  will  but  follow  the  sun  all  day, 

And  souse  with  him  into  the  sea. 

Sir  Thomas.  It  must  be  an  idle  fellow  who  would  take  that 
trouble ;  besides,  unless  he  nicked  the  time  he  might  miss  the 
monster.  There  be  many  who  are  slow  to  believe  that  the 
mermaid  singeth. 

Shakspeare.  Ah,  sir  !  not  only  the  mermaid  singeth,  but 
the  merman  sweareth,  as  another  old  song  will  convince  you. 

Sir  Thomas.     I  would  fain  be  convinced  of  God's  wonders 


1 66  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

in  the  great  deeps,  and  would  lean  upon  the  weakest  reed,  like 
unto  thee,  to  manifest  his  glory.     Thou  mayest  convince  me. 
Shakspeare,  — 

A  wonderful  story,  my  lasses  and  lads, 

Peradventure  you  Ve  heard  from  your  grannams  or  dads, 

Of  a  merman  that  came  every  night  to  woo 

The  spinster  of  spinsters,  our  Catherine  Crewe. 

But  Catherine  Crewe 
Is  now  seventy-two^ 
And  avers  she  hath  half  forgotten 
The  truth  of  the  tale,  when  you  ask  her  about  it, 
And  says,  as  if  fain  to  deny  it  or  flout  it, 
"  Pooh  1  the  merman  is  dead  and  rotten." 

The  merman  came  up,  as  the  mermen  are  wont, 
To  the  top  of  the  water,  and  then  swam  upon  't ; 
And  Catherine  saw  him  with  both  her  two  eyes, — 
A  lusty  young  merman  full  six  feet  in  size. 

And  Catherine  was  frightened, 

Her  scalp-skin  it  tightened, 
And  her  head  it  swam  strangely,  although  on  dry  land ; 

And  the  merman  made  bold 

Eftsoons  to  lay  hold 
(This  Catherine  well  recollects)  of  her  hand. 

But  how  could  a  merman,  if  ever  so  good, 

Or  if  ever  so  clever,  be  well  understood 

By  a  simple  young  creature  of  our  flesh  and  blood  ? 

Some  tell  us  the  merman 
Can  only  speak  German, 
In  a  voice  between  grunting  and  snoring; 
But  Catherine  says  he  had  learned  in  the  wars 
The  language,  persuasions,  and  oaths  of  our  tars, 
And  that  even  his  voice  was  not  foreign. 

Yet  when  she  was  asked  how  he  managed  to  hide 
The  green  fishy  tail,  coming  out  of  the  tide 

For  night  after  night  above  twenty, 
"  You  troublesome  creatures!"  old  Catherine  replied, 
"  In  his  pocket :  won't  that  now  content  ye  ?  " 

Sir  Thomas.  I  have  my  doubts  yet.  I  should  have  said 
unto  her  seriously,  "  Kate,  Kate,  I  am  not  convinced."  There 
may  be  witchcraft  or  sortilege  in  it.  I  would  have  made  it  a 
Star-chamber  matter. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  167 

Shakspeare.     It  was  one,  sir. 

Sir  Thomas.  And  now  I  am  reminded  by  this  silly  childish 
song,  which  after  all  is  not  the  true  mermaid's,  thou  didst  tell 
me,  Silas,  that  the  papers  found  in  the  lad's  pocket  were 
intended  for  poetry. 

Sir  Silas.  I  wish  he  had  missed  his  aim,  sir,  in  your  park, 
as  he  hath  missed  it  in  his  poetry.  The  papers  are  not  worth 
reading ;  they  do  not  go  against  him  in  the  point  at  issue. 

Sir  Thomas.  We  must  see  that,  they  being  taken  upon  his 
person  when  apprehended. 

Sir  Silas.  Let  Ephraim  read  them  then  :  it  behooveth  not 
me,  a  Master  of  Arts,  to  con  a  whelp's  whining. 

Sir  Thomas.  Do  thou  read  them  aloud  unto  us,  good 
Master  Ephraim. 

—  Whereupon  I  took  the  papers,  which  young  Willy  had  not 
bestowed  much  pains  on;  and  they  posed  and  puzzled  me 
grievously,  for  they  were  blotted  and  scrawled  in  many  places, 
as  if  somebody  had  put  him  out.  These  likewise  I  thought  fit, 
after  long  consideration,  to  write  better,  and  preserve,  great  as 
the  loss  of  time  is  when  men  of  business  take  in  hand  such  un- 
seemly matters.  However,  they  are  decenter  than  most,  and 
not  without  their  moral.  For  example  :  — 

TO  THE   OWLET. 

Who,  O  thou  sapient  saintly  bird! 
Thy  shouted  warnings  ever  heard 

Unbleached  by  fear? 

The  blue-faced  blubbering  imp,  who  steals 
Yon  turnips,  thinks  thee  at  his  heels, 

Afar  or  near. 

The  brawnier  churl  who  brags  at  times 
To  front  and  top  the  rankest  crimes,  — 

To  paunch  a  deer, 

Quarter  a  priest,  or  squeeze  a  wench, — 
Scuds  from  thee,  clammy  as  a  tench, 

He  knows  not  where. 

For  this  the  righteous  Lord  of  all 
Consigns  to  thee  the  castle-wall, 

When,  many  a  year, 
Closed  in  the  chancel-vault,  are  eyes 
Rainy  or  sunny  at  the  sighs 

Of  knight  or  peer. 


168  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas,  when  I  had  ended,  said  unto  me,  "  No  harm 
herein ;  but  are  they  over?  " 

I  replied,  "  Yea,  sir  !  " 

"  I  miss  the  posy"  quoth  he ;  "  there  is  usually  a  lump  of 
sugar,  or  a  smack  thereof,  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass.  They 
who  are  inexperienced  in  poetry  do  write  it  as  boys  do  their 
copies  in  the  copy-book,  —  without  a  flourish  at  the  fans.  It 
is  only  the  master  who  can  do  this  befittingly." 

I  bowed  unto  his  worship  reverentially,  thinking  of  a  surety 
he  meant  me,  and  returned  my  best  thanks  in  set  language. 
But  his  worship  rebuffed  them,  and  told  me  graciously  that  he 
had  an  eye  on  another  of  very  different  quality  ;  that  the  plain 
sense  of  his  discourse  might  do  for  me,  the  subtler  was  certainly 
for  himself.  He  added  that  in  his  younger  days  he  had  heard 
from  a  person  of  great  parts,  and  had  since  profited  by  it,  that 
ordinary  poets  are  like  adders,  —  the  tail  blunt  and  the  body 
rough,  and  the  whole  reptile  cold-blooded  and  sluggish ; 
whereas  we,  he  subjoined,  leap  and  caracole  and  curvet,  and 
are  as  warm  as  velvet  and  as  sleek  as  satin  and  as  perfurnqd  as 
a  Naples  fan  in  every  part  of  us ;  and  the  end  of  our  poems  is 
as  pointed  as  a  perch's  back-fin,  and  it  requires  as  much  nicety 
to  pick  it  up  as  a  needle 1  at  nine  groats  the  hundred. 

Then  turning  toward  the  culprit,  he  said  mildly  unto  him, 
v  Now,  why  canst  thou  not  apply  thyself  unto  study?  Why 
canst  thou  not  ask  advice  of  thy  superiors  in  rank  and  wisdom  ? 
In  a  few  years,  under  good  discipline,  thou  mightest  rise  from 
the  owlet  unto  the  peacock.  I  know  not  what  pleasant  things 
might  not  come  into  the  youthful  head  thereupon.  "  He  was 
the  bird  of  Venus,2  goddess  of  beauty.  He  flew  down  (I 
speak  as  a  poet,  and  not  in  my  quality  of  knight  and  Chris- 
tian) with  half  the  stars  of  heaven  upon  his  tail ;  and  his  long 
blue  neck  doth  verily  appear  a  dainty  slice  out  of  the  solid 
sky." 

Sir  Silas  smote  me  with  his  elbow,  and  said  in  my  ear,  "  He 
wanteth  not  this  stuffing :  he  beats  a  pheasant  out  of  the 

1  The  greater  part  of  the  value  of  the  present  work  arises   from  the 
certain  information  it  affords  us  on  the  price  of  needles  in  the   reign  of 
Elizabeth.     Fine  needles  in  her  days  were  made  only  at  Liege,  and  some 
few  cities  in  the  Netherlands,  and  may  be  reckoned  among  those   things 
which  were  much  dearer  than  they  are  now. 

2  Mr.  Tooke  had  not  yet  published  his  "  Pantheon." 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEAKE.  169 

kitchen,  to  my  mind ;  take  him  only  at  the  pheasant's  size, 
and  don't  (upon  your  life)  overdo  him.  Never  be  cast  down  in 
spirit,  nor  take  it  too  grievously  to  heart,  if  the  color  be  a  sus- 
picion of  the  pinkish  :  no  sign  of  rawness  in  that,  none  what- 
ever. It  is  as  becoming  to  him  as  to  the  salmon ;  it  is  as 
natural  to  your  pea-chick  in  his  best  cookery  as  it  is  to  the 
finest  October  morning,  moist  underfoot,  when  partridge's  and 
puss's  and  reynard's  scent  lies  sweetly." 

Willy  Shakspeare  in  the  mean  time  lifted  up  his  hands  above 
his  ears  half  a  cubit,  and  taking  breath  again,  said  audibly,  al- 
though he  willed  it  to  be  said  unto  himself  alone,  "  Oh  that 
knights  could  deign  to  be  our  teachers  !  Methinks  I  should 
briefly  spring  up  into  heaven,  through  the  very  chink  out  of 
which  the  peacock  took  his  neck." 

Master  Silas,  who,  like  myself  and  the  worshipful  knight,  did 
overhear  him,  said  angrily,  "  To  spring  up  into  heaven,  my  lad, 
it  would  be  as  well  to  have  at  least  one  foot  upon  the  ground 
to  make  the  spring  withal.  I  doubt  whether  we  shall  leave  thee 
this  vantage." 

"  Nay,  nay !  thou  art  hard  upon  him,  Silas  !  "  said  the 
knight. 

I  was  turning  over  the  other  papers  taken  from  the  pocket 
of  the  culprit  on  his  apprehension,  and  had  fixed  my  eyes  on 
one,  when  Sir  Thomas  caught  them  thus  occupied,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Mercy  upon  us  !  have  we  more  ?  " 

"Your  patience,  worshipful  sir  !  "  said  I ;  "  must  I  forward?  " 

"Yea,  yea,"  quoth  he,  resignedly,  "we  must  go  through  :  we 
are  pilgrims  in  this  life." 

Then  did  I  read,  in  a  clear  voice,  the  contents  of  paper  the 
second,  being  as  followeth  :  — 

THE   MAID'S   LAMENT. 

I  loved  him  not ;  and  yet  now  he  is  gone 

I  feel  I  am  alone. 
I  checked  him  while  he  spoke  ;  yet  could  he  speak, 

Alas  !  I  would  not  check. 
For  reasons  not  to  love  him  once  I  sought, 

And  wearied  all  my  thought 
To  vex  myself  and  him  :   I  now  would  give 

My  love,  could  he  but  live 
Who  lately  lived  for  me  ;  and  when  he  found 

'T  was  vain,  in  holy  ground 


I/O  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

He  hid  his  face  amid  the  shades  of  death. 

I  waste  for  him  my  breath 
Who  wasted  his  for  me  ;  but  mine  returns, 

And  this  lorn  bosom  burns 
With  stifling  heat,  heaving  it  up  in  sleep, 

And  waking  me  to  weep 
Tears  that  had  melted  his  soft  heart :  for  years 

Wept  he  as  bitter  tears. 
Merciful  God!  "  such  was  his  latest  prayer, 

"  These  may  she  never  share  !  " 
Quieter  is  his  breath,  his  breast  more  cold, 

Than  daisies  in  the  mould, 
Where  children  spell,  athwart  the  churchyard  gate, 

His  name  and  life's  brief  date. 
Pray  for  him,  gentle  souls,  whoe'er  you  be, 

And  oh  !  pray  too  for  me  ! 

Sir  Thomas  had  fallen  into  a  most  comfortable  and  refreshing 
slumber  ere  this  lecture  was  concluded ;  but  the  pause  broke 
it,  as  there  be  many  who  experience  after  the  evening  service 
in  our  parish-church.  Howbeit,  he  had  presently  all  his  wits 
about  him,  and  remembered  well  that  he  had  been  carefully 
counting  the  syllables  about  the  time  when  I  had  pierced  as 
far  as  into  the  middle. 

"  Young  man,"  said  he  to  Willy,  "  thou  givest  short  measure 
in  every  other  sack  of  the  load.  Thy  uppermost  stake  is  of 
right  length ;  the  undermost  falleth  off,  methinks.  Master 
Ephraim,  canst  thou  count  syllables?  I  mean  no  offence.  I 
may  have  counted  wrongfully  myself,  not  being  born  nor  edu- 
cated for  an  accountant." 

At  such  order  I  did  count ;  and  truly  the  suspicion  was  as 
just  as  if  he  had  neither  been  a  knight  nor  a  sleeper. 

"Sad  stuff!  sad  stuff,  indeed!"  said  Master  Silas,  "and 
smelling  of  popery  and  wax-candles." 

"  Ay?  "  said  Sir  Thomas,  "  I  must  sift  that." 

"  If  praying  for  the  dead  is  not  popery,"  said  Master  Silas, 
"  I  know  not  what  the  devil  is.  Let  them  pray  for  us,  —  they 
may  know  whether  it  will  do  us  any  good ;  we  need  not  pray 
for  them, — we  cannot  tell  whether  it  will  do  them  any.  I 
call  this  sound  divinity." 

"Are  our  churchmen  all  agreed  thereupon?"  asked  Sir 
Thomas. 

"  The  wisest  are,"  replied  Master  Silas.  "  There  are  some 
lank  rascals  who  will  never  agree  upon  anything  but  upon 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  I /I 

doubting.  I  would  not  give  ninepence  for  the  best  gown  upon 
the  most  thrifty  of  'em  ;  and  their  fingers  are  as  stiff  and  hard 
with  their  pedlery  knavish  writing,  as  any  bishop's  are  with 
chalk-stones  won  honestly  from  the  gout." 

Sir  Thomas  took  the  paper  up  from  the  table  on  which  I  had 
laid  it,  and  said,  after  a  while,  "The  man  may  only  have 
swooned.  I  scorn  to  play  the  critic,  or  to  ask  any  one  the 
meaning  of  a  word  ;  but,  sirrah —  " 

Here  he  turned  in  his  chair  from  the  side  of  Master  Silas, 
and  said  unto  Willy,  "  William  Shakspeare,  out  of  this  thral- 
dom in  regard  to  popery  I  hope,  by  God's  blessing,  to  deliver 
thee.  If  ever  thou  repeatest  the  said  verses,  knowing  the  man 
to  be  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  dead  man,  prythee  read  the 
censurable  line  as  thus  corrected,  — 

Pray  for  our  Virgin  Queen,  gentles  !  whoe'er  you  be,  — 

although  it  is  not  quite  the  thing  that  another  should  impinge 
so  closely  on  her  skirts.  By  this  improvement,  of  me  sug- 
gested, thou  mayest  make  some  amends,  a  syllable  or  two,  for 
the  many  that  are  weighed  in  the  balance  and  are  found 
wanting." 

Then,  turning  unto  me,  as  being  conversant  by  my  profes- 
sion in  such  matters,  and  the  same  being  not  very  worthy  of 
learned  and  staid  clerks  the  like  of  Master  Silas,  he  said,  <;  Of 
all  the  youths  that  did  ever  write  in  verse,  this  one  verily  is  he 
who  hath  the  fewest  flowers  and  devices.  But  it  would  be  loss 
of  time  to  form  a  border  in  the  fashion  of  a  kingly  crown, 
or  a  dragon,  or  a  Turk  on  horseback,  out  of  buttercups  and 
dandelions.  Master  Ephraim,  look  at  these  badgers,  with  a 
long  leg  on  one  quarter  and  a  short  leg  on  the  other !  The 
wench  herself  might  well  and  truly  have  said  all  that  matter 
without  the  poet,  bating  the  rhymes  and  metre.  Among  the 
girls  in  the  country  there  are  many  such  shilly-shalfys,  who  give 
themselves  sore  eyes  and  sharp  eye-water ;  I  would  cure  them 
rod  in  hand." 

Whereupon  did  William  Shakspeare  say,  with  great  humility, 
"  So  would  I,  may  it  please  your  worship,  an  they  would 
let  me." 

"  Incorrigible  sluts  !  Out  upon  'em  !  and  thou  art  no  better 
than  they  are,"  quoth  the  knight. 


1/2  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Master  Silas  cried  aloud,  "  No  better,  marry  !  they  at  the 
worst  are  but  carted  and  whipped  for  the  edification  of  the 
market- folks.1  Not  a  squire  or  parson  in  the  county  round 
but  comes  in  his  best  to  see  a  man  hanged." 

"  The  edification  then  is  higher  by  a  deal,"  said  William, 
very  composedly. 

"  Troth  !  is  it,"  replied  Master  Silas.  "  The  most  poisonous 
reptile  has  the  richest  jewel  in  his  head  :  thou  shalt  share  the 
richest  gift  bestowed  upon  royalty,  and  shalt  cure  the  king's 
evil."  * 

"  It  is  more  tractable,  then,  than  the  Church's,"  quoth 
William ;  and  turning  his  face  toward  the  chair  he  made  an 
obeisance  to  Sir  Thomas,  saying,  "  Sir,  the  more  submissive 
my  behavior  is,  the  more  vehement  and  boisterous  is  Master 
Silas.  My  gentlest  words  serve  only  to  carry  him  toward 
the  contrary  quarter,  as  the  south  wind  bloweth  a  ship 
northward." 

"Youth,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  smiling  most  benignly,  "I  find, 
and  well  indeed  might  I  have  surmised,  thy  utter  ignorance  of 
winds,  equinoxes,  and  tides.  Consider  now  a  little  !  With 
what  propriety  can  a  wind  be  called  a  south  wind  if  it  bloweth 
a  vessel  to  the  north  ?  Would  it  be  a  south  wind  that  blew  it 
from  this  hall  into  Warwick  market-place?  " 

"  It  would  be  a  strong  one,"  said  Master  Silas  unto  me,  point- 
ing his  remark,  as  witty  men  are  wont,  with  the  elbow-pan. 

But  Sir  Thomas,  who  waited  for  an  answer,  and  received 
none,  continued,  "  Would  a  man  be  called  a  good  man  who 
tended  and  pushed  on  toward  evil?" 

Shakspeare.  I  stand  corrected.  I  could  sail  to  Cathay  or 
Tartary 3  with  half  the  nautical  knowledge  I  have  acquired  in 
this  glorious  hall.  The  Devil  impelling  a  mortal  to  wrong 
courses  is  thereby  known  to  be  the  Devil.  He,  on  the  con- 
trary, who  exciteth  to  good  is  no  devil,  but  an  angel  of  light, 
or  under  the  guidance  of  one.  The  Devil  driveth  unto  his 
own  home  ;  so  doth  the  south  wind  ;  so  doth  the  north  wind. 

1  This  was  really  the  case  within  our  memory. 

2  It  was  formerly  thought,  and  perhaps  is  thought  still,  that  the  hand 
of  a  man  recently  hanged  being  rubbed  on  the  tumor  of  the  king's  evil 
was  able  to  cure  it.     The  crown  and  the  gallows  divided  the  glory  of  the 
sovereign  remedy. 

3  And  yet  he  never  did  sail  any  farther  than  into  Bohemia. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  1/3 

Alas,  alas  !  we  possess  not  the  mastery  over  our  own  weak 
minds  when  a  higher  spirit  standeth  nigh  and  draweth  us 
within  his  influence. 

Sir  Thomas.  Those  thy  words  are  well  enough  ;  very  well, 
very  good,  wise,  discreet,  judicious  beyond  thy  years.  But 
then  that  sailing  comes  in  an  awkward  ugly  way  across  me ; 
that  Cathay,  that  Tartarus  !  Have  a  care  !  Do  thou  noth- 
ing rashly.  Mind  !  an  thou  stealeth  my  punt  for  the  pur- 
pose, I  send  the  constable  after  thee  or  e'er  thou  art  half 
way  over. 

Shakspeare.  He  would  make  a  stock-fish  of  me  an  he 
caught  me.  It  is  hard  sailing  out  of  his  straits,  although  they 
be  carefully  laid  down  in  most  parishes,  and  may  have  taken 
them  from  actual  survey. 

Sir  Silas.  Sir,  we  have  bestowed  on  him  already  well-nigh 
a  good  hour  of  our  time. 

—  Sir  Thomas,  who  was  always  fond  of  giving  admonition 
and  reproof  to  the  ignorant  and  erring,  and  who  had  found  the 
seeds  (little  mustard-seeds,  't  is  true,  and  never  likely  to  arise 
into  the  great  mustard-tree  of  the  Gospel)  in  the  poor  lad 
Willy,  did  let  his  heart  soften  a  whit  tenderer  and  kindlier  than 
Master  Silas  did,  and  said  unto  Master  Silas,  "  A  good  hour  of 
our  time  !  Yea,  Silas,  and  thou  wouldst  give  him  eternity  !  " 

"What,  sir,  would  you  let  him  go?"  said  Master  Silas. 
"  Presently  we  shall  have  neither  deer  nor  dog,  neither  hare 
nor  coney,  neither  swan  nor  heron  ;  every  carp  from  pool,  every 
bream  from  brook,  will  be  groped  for.  The  marble  monu- 
ments in  the  church  will  no  longer  protect  the  leaden  coffins ; 
and  if  there  be  any  ring  of  gold  on  the  finger  of  knight  or 
dame,  it  will  be  torn  away  with  as  little  ruth  and  ceremony  as 
the  ring  from  a  butchered  sow's  snout." 

"  Awful  words,  Master  Silas,"  quoth  the  knight,  musing  ;  "  but 
thou  mistakest  my  intentions.  I  let  him  not  go ;  howbeit,  at 
worst  I  would  only  mark  him  in  the  ear,  and  turn  him  up  again 
after  this  warning,  peradventure  with  a  few  stripes  to  boot 
athwart  the  shoulders,  in  order  to  make  them  shrug  a  little, 
and  shake  off  the  burden  of  idleness." 

Now  I,  having  seen,  I  dare  not  say  the  innocence,  but  the 
innocent  and  simple  manner  of  Willy,  and  pitying  his  tender 
years,  and  having  an  inkling  that  he  was  a  lad,  poor  Willy, 


174  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

whom  God  had  endowed  with  some  parts,  and  into  whose 
breast  he  had  instilled  that  milk  of  loving-kindness  by  which 
alone  we  can  be  like  unto  those  little  children  of  whom  is  the 
household  and  kingdom  of  our  Lord,  I  was  moved,  yea,  even 
unto  tears.  And  now,  to  bring  gentler  thoughts  into  the 
hearts  of  Master  Silas  and  Sir  Thomas,  who  in  his  wisdom 
deemed  it  a  light  punishment  to  slit  an  ear  or  two,  or  in- 
flict a  wiry  scourging,  I  did  remind  his  worship  that  another 
paper  was  yet  unread,  at  least  to  them,  although  I  had  been 
perusing  it. 

This  was  much  pleasanter  than  the  former  two,  and  over- 
flowing with  the  praises  of  the  worthy  knight  and  his  gracious 
lady ;  and  having  an  echo  to  it  in  another  voice,  I  did  hope 
thereby  to  disarm  their  just  wrath  and  indignation.  It  was 
thus  couched  :  — 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

Jesu  !  what  lofty  elms  are  here  ! 
Let  me  look  through  them  at  the  clear 
Deep  sky  above,  and  bless  my  star 
That  such  a  worthy  knight's  they  are  ! 

SECOND  SHEPHERD. 

Innocent  creatures  !  how  those  deer 
Trot  merrily,  and  romp  and  rear ! 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

The  glorious  knight  who  walks  beside 
His  most  majestic  lady  bride, 

SECOND  SHEPHERD. 

Under  these  branches  spreading  wide, 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

Carries  about  so  many  cares 

Touching  his  ancestors  and  heirs, 

That  came  from  Athens  and  from  Rome, 

SECOND  SHEPHERD. 

As  many  of  them  as  are  come, 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

Nought  else  the  smallest  lodge  can  find 
In  the  vast  manors  of  his  mind ; 
Envying  not  vSolomon  his  wit, 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  1/5 

SECOND    SHEPHERD. 

No,  nor  his  women,  —  not  a  bit; 
Being  well-built  and  well-behaved 
As  Solomon,  1  trow,  or  David. 

FIRST    SHEPHERD. 

And  taking  by  his  jewelled  hand 

The  jewel  of  that  lady  bland, 

He  sees  the  tossing  antlers  pass 

And  throw  quaint  shadows  o'er  the  grass; 

While  she  alike  the  hour  beguiles, 

And  looks  at  him  and  them,  and  smiles. 

SECOND   SHEPHERD. 

With  conscience  proof  'gainst  Satan's  shock, 

Albeit  finer  than  her  smock,1 

Marry  1  her  smiles  are  not  of  vanity, 

But  resting  on  sound  Christianity. 

Faith  you  would  sware  had  naii'd2  her  ears  on 

The  book  and  cushion  of  the  parson. 

"  Methinks  the  rhyme  at  the  latter  end  might  be  bettered," 
said  Sir  Thomas.  "  The  remainder  is  indited  not  unaptly. 
But,  young  man,  never  having  obtained  the  permission  of  my 
honorable  dame  to  praise  her  in  guise  of  poetry,  I  cannot  see 
all  the  merit  I  would  fain  discern  in  the  verses.  She  ought  first 
to  have  been  sounded  ;  and  it  being  certified  that  she  disap- 
proved not  her  glorification,  then  might  it  be  trumpeted  forth 
into  the  world  below." 

"  Most  worshipful  knight,"  replied  the  youngster,  "  I  never 
could  take  it  in  hand  to  sound  a  dame  of  quality ;  they  are  all 
of  them  too  deep  and  too  practised  for  me,  and  have  better 
and  abler  men  about  'em.  And  surely  I  did  imagine  to  myself 
that  if  it  were  asked  of  any  honorable  man  (omitting  to  speak 
of  ladies)  whether  he  would  give  permission  to  be  openly 
praised,  he  would  reject  the  application  as  a  gross  offence.  It 
appeareth  to  me  that  even  to  praise  one's  self,  although  it  be 
shameful,  is  less  shameful  than  to  throw  a  burning  coal  into 

1  "  Smock,"   formerly  a    part   of  female   dress,    corresponding   with 
"shroud,"  or  what  we  now  call  (or  lately  called)  "shirt,"  of  the  man's. 
Fox,   speaking   of   Latimer's    burning,   says,   "  Being    slipped    into   his 
shroud." 

2  Faith  nailing  the  ears  is  a  strong  and  sacred  metaphor.     The  rhyme 
is   imperfect ;    Shakspeare   was    not    always    attentive   to   these    minor 
beauties. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

the  incense-box  that  another  doth  hold  to  waft  before  us, 
and  then  to  snift  and  simper  over  it  with  maidenly  wish- 
ful coyness,  as  if  forsooth  one  had  no  hand  in  setting  it 
a-smoke." 

Then  did  Sir  Thomas,  in  his  zeal  to  instruct  the  ignorant, 
and  so  make  the  lowly  hold  up  their  heads,  say  unto  him, 
"  Nay,  but  all  the  great  do  thus.  Thou  must  not  praise  them 
without  leave  and  license.  Praise  unpermitted  is  plebeian 
praise.  It  is  presumption  to  suppose  that  thou  knowest  enough 
of  the  noble  and  the  great  to  discover  their  high  qualities. 
They  alone  could  manifest  them  unto  thee.  It  requireth  much 
discernment  and  much  time  to  enucleate  and  bring  into  light 
their  abstruse  wisdom  and  gravely  featured  virtues.  Those  of 
ordinary  men  lie  before  thee  in  thy  daily  walks ;  thou  mayest 
know  them  by  converse  at  their  tables,  as  thou  knowest  the 
little  tame  squirrel  that  chippeth  his  nuts  in  the  open  sunshine 
of  a  bowling-green.  But  beware  how  thou  enterest  the  awful 
arbors  of  the  great,  who  conceal  their  magnanimity  in  the 
depths  of  their  hearts  as  lions  do." 

He  then  paused ;  and  observing  the  youth  in  deep  and 
earnest  meditation  over  the  fruits  of  his  experience,  as  one  who 
tasted  and  who  would  fain  digest  them,  he  gave  him  encour- 
agement, and  relieved  the  weight  of  his  musings  by  kind  inter- 
rogation :  "  So  then  these  verses  are  thine  own?  " 

The  youth  answered,  "  Sir,  I  must  confess  my  fault." 

"  And  who  was  the  shepherd  written  here  *  Second  Shep- 
herd,' that  had  the  ill  manners  to  interrupt  thee  ?  Methinks 
in  helping  thee  to  mount  the  saddle  he  pretty  nigh  tossed  thee 
over1  with  his  jerks  and  quirks." 

Without  waiting  for  any  answer,  his  worship  continued  his 
interrogations.  "  But  do  you  wool-staplers  call  yourselves  by 
the  style  and  title  of  shepherds?" 

1  Shakspeare  seems  to  have  profited  afterward  by  this  metaphor,  even 
more  perhaps  than  by  all  the  direct  pieces  of  instruction  in  poetry  given 
him  so  handsomely  by  the  worthy  knight.  And  here  it  may  be  permitted 
the  editor  to  profit  also  by  the  manuscript,  correcting  in  Shakspeare  what 
is  absolute  nonsense  as  now  printed :  — 

"  Vaulting  ambition  that  o'erleaps  itself, 
And  falls  on  the  other  side" 

Other  side  of  what  ?  It  should  be  "  its  sell."  Sell  is  saddle  in  Spenser 
and  elsewhere,  from  the  Latin  and  Italian. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  177 

"  Verily,  sir,  do  we ;  and  I  trust  by  right.  The  last  owner 
of  any  place  is  called  the  master,  more  properly  than  the 
dead  and  gone  who  once  held  it.  If  that  be  true  (and  who 
doubts  it?),  we  who  have  the  last  of  the  sheep,  —  namely,  the 
wool  and  skin,  —  and  who  buy  all  of  all  the  flock,  surely  may 
more  properly  be  called  shepherds  than  those  idle  vagrants 
who  tend  them  only  for  a  season,  selling  a  score  or  purchasing 
a  score  as  may  happen." 

Here  Sir  Thomas  did  pause  awhile,  and  then  said  unto 
Master  Silas,  "  My  own  cogitations,  and  not  this  stripling,  have 
induced  me  to  consider  and  to  conclude  a  weighty  matter  for 
knightly  scholarship.  I  never  could  rightly  understand  before 
how  Colin  Clout,  and  sundry  others  calling  themselves  shep- 
herds, should  argue  like  doctors  in  law,  physic,  and  divinity. 
Silas,  they  were  wool- staplers  ;  and  they  must  have  exercised 
their  wits  in  dealing  with  tithe- proctors  and  parsons,  and  more- 
over with  fellows  of  colleges  from  our  two  learned  universities, 
who  have  sundry  lands  held  under  them,  as  thou  knowest,  and 
take  the  small  tithes  in  kind.  Colin  Clout,  methinks,  from  his 
extensive  learning  might  have  acquired  enough  interest  with  the 
Queen's  Highness  to  change  his  name  for  the  better,  and  fur- 
thermore her  royal  license  to  carry  armorial  bearings,  in  no 
peril  of  taint  from  so  unsavory  an  appellation." 

Master  Silas  did  interrupt  this  discourse,  by  saying,  "  May  it 
please  your  worship,  the  constable  is  waiting." 

Whereat  Sir  Thomas  said  tartly,  "  And  let  him  wait."  1 

Then  to  me  :  "  I  hope  we  have  done  with  verses,  and  are 
not  to  be  befooled  by  the  lad's  nonsense  touching  mermaids 
or  worse  creatures." 

Then  to  Will :  "  William  Shakspeare,  we  live  in  a  Christian 
land,  —  a  land  of  great  toleration  and  forbearance.  Threescore 
carts  full  of  fagots  a  year  are  fully  sufficient  to  clear  our  English 
air  from  every  pestilence  of  heresy  and  witchcraft.  It  hath  not 

1  It  has  been  suggested  that  this  answer  was  borrowed  from  Virgil,  and 
goes  strongly  against  the  genuineness  of  the  manuscript.  The  Editor's 
memory  was  upon  the  stretch  to  recollect  the  words :  the  learned  critic 
supplied  them,  — 

"  Solum  ^Eneas  vocat :  et  Tocet,  oro.'' 

The  Editor  could  only  reply,  indeed  weakly,  that  calling  and  waiting  are 
not  exactly  the  same,  unless  when  tradesmen  rap  and  gentlemen  are' leav- 
ing to\\n. 

12 


1/8  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

alway  been  so,  God  wot !  Innocent  and  guilty  took  their 
turns  before  the  fire,  like  geese  and  capons.  The  spit  was 
never  cold ;  the  cook's  sleeve  was  ever  above  the  elbow. 
Countrymen  came  down  from  distant  villages,  into  towns  and 
cities,  to  see  perverters  whom  they  had  never  heard  of,  and  to 
learn  the  righteousness  of  hatred.  When  heretics  waxed  fewer, 
the  religious  began  to  grumble  that  God  in  losing  his  enemies 
had  also  lost  his  avengers. 

"  Do  npt  thou,  William  Shakspeare,  dig  the  hole  for  thy  own 
stake.  If  thou  canst  not  make  men  wise,  do  not  make  them 
merry  at  thy  cost.  We  are  not  to  be  paganized  any  more. 
Having  struck  from  our  calendars  and  unnailed  from  our 
chapels  many  dozens  of  decent  saints,  with  as  little  compunc- 
tion and  remorse  as  unlucky  lads  throw  frog-spawn  and  tadpoles 
out  of  stagnant  ditches,  never  let  us  think  of  bringing  back 
among  us  the  daintier  divinities  they  ousted.  All  these  are  the 
Devil's  imps,  beautiful  as  they  appear  in  what  we  falsely  call 
works  of  genius,  which  really  and  truly  are  the  Devil's  own,  — 
statues  more  graceful  than  humanity,  pictures  more  living  than 
life,  eloquenpe  that  raised  single  cities  above  empires,  poor  men 
above  kings.  If  these  are  not  Satan's  works,  where  are  they? 
I  will  tell  thee  where  they  are  likewise  :  in  holding  vain  con- 
verse with  false  gods.  The  utmost  we  can  allow  in  propriety 
is  to  call  a  knight  Phoebus,  and  a  dame  Diana.  They  are  not 
meat  for  every  trencher. 

"We  must  now  proceed  straightforward  with  the  business 
on  which  thou  comest  before  us.  What  further  sayest  thou, 
witness?  " 

Treen.  His  face  was  toward  me  :  I  saw  it  clearly.  The 
graver  man  followed  him  into  the  punt,  and  said  roughly,  "  We 
shall  get  hanged  as  sure  PS  thou  pipest."  Whereunto  he 
answered,  — 

"  Naturally,  as  fall  upon  the  ground 
The  leaves  in  winter  and  the  girls  in  spring." 

And  then  began  he  again  with  the  mermaid  ;  whereat  the  graver 
man  clapped  a  hand  before  his  mouth,  and  swore  he  should 
take  her  in  wedlock,  to  have  and  to  hold,  if  he  sang  another 
stave.  "  And  thou  shalt  be  her  pretty  little  bridemaid,"  quoth 
he  gayly  to  the  graver  man,  chucking  him  under  the  chin. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  179 

Sir  Thomas.  And  what  did  Carnaby  say  unto  thee,  or  what 
didst  thou  say  unto  Carnaby? 

Treen.  Carnaby  said  unto  me,  somewhat  tauntingly,  "  The 
big  squat  man  that  lay  upon  thy  bread-basket  like  a  night-mare 
is  a  punt  at  last,  it  seems." 

"  Punt,  and  more  too,"  answered  I.  "  Tarry  awhile,  and  thou 
shalt  see  this  punt  (so  let  me  call  it)  lead  them  into  tempta- 
tion, and  swamp  them,  or  carry  them  to  the  gallows :  I  would 
not  stay  else. 

Sir  Thomas.     And  what  didst  thou,  Joseph  Carnaby? 

Carnaby.  Finding  him  neither  slack  nor  shy,  I  readily  tarried. 
We  knelt  down  opposite  each  other,  and  said  our  prayers ;  and 
he  told  me  he  was  now  comfortable.  "  The  evil  one,"  said  he, 
"  hath  enough  to  mind  yonder,  —  he  shall  not  hurt  us."  Never 
was  a  sweeter  night,  had  there  been  but  some  mild  ale  under  it, 
which  any  one  would  have  sworn  it  was  made  for.  The  milky 
way  looked  like  a  long  drift  of  hailstones  on  a  sunny  ridge. 

Sir  Thomas.     Hast  thou  done  describing? 

Carnaby.     Yea,  an  please  your  worship. 

Sir  Thomas.  God's  blessing  be  upon  thee,  honest  Carnaby  ! 
I  feared  a  moon- fall.  In  our  days  nobody  can  think  about  a 
plum-pudding  but  the  moon  comes  down  upon  it.  I  warrant 
ye  this  lad  here  hath  as  many  moons  in  his  poems  as  the  Sara- 
cens had  in  their  banners. 

Shakspeare.  I  have  not  hatched  mine  yet,  sir.  Whenever 
I  do  I  trust  it  will  be  worth  taking  to  market. 

Carnaby.  I  said  all  I  know  of  the  stars  ;  but  Master  Euseby 
can  run  over  half  a  score  and  upward,  here  and  there.  "  Am 
I  right  or  wrong?  "  cried  he,  spreading  on  the  back  of  my  hand 
all  his  fingers, "stiff  as  antlers  and  cold  as  icicles.  "  Look  up  ! 
Joseph,  Joseph,  there  is  no  Lucifer  in  the  firmament !  "  I 
myself  did  feel  queerish  and  qualmy  upon  hearing  that  a  star 
was  missing,  being  no  master  of  gainsaying  it ;  and  I  abased  my 
eyes  and  entreated  of  Euseby  to  do  in  like  manner.  And  in 
this  posture  did  we  both  of  us  remain ;  and  the  missing  star 
did  not  disquiet  me ;  and  all  the  others  seemed  as  if  they 
knew  us  and  would  not  tell  of  us ;  and  there  was  peace  and 
pleasantness  over  sky  and  earth.  And  I  said  to  my  companion, 
"  How  quiet  now,  good  Master  Euseby,  are  all  God's  creatures 
in  this  meadow,  because  they  never  pry  into  such  high  matters, 


ISO  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

but  breathe  sweetly  among  the  pig-nuts.  The  only  things  we 
hear  or  see  stirring  are  the  glow-worms  and  dormice,  as  though 
they  were  sent  for  our  edification,  —  teaching  us  to  rest  con- 
tented with  our  own  little  light,  and  to  come  out  and  seek  our 
sustenance  where  none  molest  or  thwart  us." 

Shakspeare.  Ye  would  have  it  thus,  no  doubt,  when  your 
pockets  and  pouches  are  full  of  gins  and  nooses. 

Sir  Thomas.  A  bridle  upon  thy  dragon's  tongue  !  And  do 
thou,  Master  Joseph,  quit  the  dormice  and  glow-worms,  and 
tell  us  whither  did  the  rogues  go. 

Carnaby.  I  wot  not  after  they  had  crossed  the  river :  they 
were  soon  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

Sir  Thomas.     Went  they  toward  Charlecote  ? 

Carnaby.     Their  first  steps  were  thitherward. 

Sir  Thomas.     Did  they  come  back  unto  the  punt  ? 

Carnaby.  They  went  down  the  stream  in  it,  and  crossed 
the  Avon  some  fourscore  yards  below  where  we  were  standing. 
They  came  back  in  it,  and  moored  it  to  the  sedges  in  which  it 
had  stood  before. 

Sir  Thomas.     How  long  were  they  absent  ? 

Carnaby.  Within  an  hour,  or  thereabout,  all  the  three  men 
returned.  Will  Shakspeare  and  another  were  sitting  in  the 
middle,  the  third  punted. 

"  Remember  now,  gentles  !  "  quoth  William  Shakspeare, 
"  the  road  we  have  taken  is  henceforward  a  footpath  forever, 
according  to  law." 

"  How  so?  "  asked  the  punter,  turning  toward  him. 

"  Forasmuch  as  a  corpse  hath  passed  along  it,"  answered  he. 

Whereupon  both  Euseby  and  myself  did  forthwith  fall  upon 
our  faces,  commending  our  souls  unto  the  Lord. 

Sir  Thomas.  It  was  then  really  the  dead  body  that  quivered 
so  fearfully  upon  the  water,  covering  all  the  punt !  Christ  de- 
liver us  !  I  hope  the  keeper  they  murdered  was  not  Jeremiah. 
His  wife  and  four  children  would  be  very  chargeable,  and  the 
man  was  by  no  means  amiss.  Proceed  !  what  further? 

Carnaby.  On  reaching  the  bank,  "  I  never  sat  pleasanter 
in  my  lifetime,"  said  William  Shakspeare,  "  than  upon  this 
carcass." 

Sir  Thomas.  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us  !  Thou  upon  a 
carcass,  at  thy  years  ? 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  l8l 

And  the  knight  drew  back  his  chair  half  an  ell  farther  from 
the  table,  and  his  lips  quivered  at  the  thought  of  such  inhu- 
manity. "And  what  said  he  more,  and  what  did  he?  "  asked 
the  knight. 

Carnaby.  He  patted  it  smartly,  and  said,  "  Lug  it  out ; 
break  it." 

Sir  Thomas.  These  four  poor  children  !  who  shall  feed 
them? 

Sir  Silas.  Sir,  in  God's  name  have  you  forgotten  that  Jere- 
miah is  gone  to  Nuneaton  to  see  his  father,  and  that  the  mur- 
dered man  is  the  buck? 

Sir  Thomas.  They  killed  the  buck  likewise.  But  what,  ye 
cowardly  varlets  !  have  ye  been  deceiving  me  all  this  time  ? 
And  thou,  youngster,  couldst  thou  say  nothing  to  clear  up  the 
case  ?  Thou  shalt  smart  for  it.  Methought  I  had  lost  by  a 
violent  death  the  best  servant  ever  man  had  ;  righteous,  if  there 
be  no  blame  in  saying  it,  as  the  prophet  whose  name  he  beareth, 
and  brave  as  the  lion  of  Judah. 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  if  these  men  could  deceive  your  worship 
for  a  moment,  they  might  deceive  me  forever.  I  could  not 
guess  what  their  story  aimed  at,  except  my  ruin.  I  am  inclined 
to  lean  for  once  toward  the  opinion  of  Master  Silas,  and  to  be- 
lieve it  was  really  the  stolen  buck  on  which  this  William  (if  in- 
deed there  is  any  truth  at  all  in  the  story)  was  sitting. 

Sir  Thomas.  What  more  hast  thou  for  me  that  is  not  enigma 
or  parable  ? 

Carnaby.  I  did  not  see  the  carcass,  man's  or  beast's,  may 
it  please  your  worship,  and  I  have  recited  and  can  recite  that 
only  which  I  saw  and  heard.  After  the  words  of  lugging  out 
and  breaking  it,  knives  were  drawn  accordingly.  It  was  no  time 
to  loiter  or  linger.  We  crope  back  under  the  shadow  of  the 
alders  and  hazels  on  the  high  bank  that  bordereth  Mickle 
Meadow,  and  making  straight  for  the  public  road  hastened 
homeward. 

Sir  Thomas.  Hearing  this  deposition,  dost  thou  affirm  the 
like  upon  thy  oath,  Master  Euseby  Treen,  or  dost  thou  vary  in 
aught  essential? 

Treen.  Upon  my  oath  I  do  depose  and  affirm  the  like,  and 
truly  the  identical  same ;  and  I  will  never  more  vary  upon  aught 
essential. 


182  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  do  now  further  demand  of  thee  whether  thou 
knowest  anything  more  appertaining  unto  this  business. 

Treen.  Ay,  verily ;  that  your  worship  may  never  hold  me 
for  timorsome  and  superstitious,  I  do  furthermore  add  that  some 
other  than  deer-stealers  was  abroad.  In  sign  whereof,  although 
it  was  the  dryest  and  clearest  night  of  the  season,  my  jerkin  was 
damp  inside  and  outside  when  I  reached  the  house-door. 

Shakspeare.  I  warrant  thee,  Euseby,  the  damp  began  not 
at  the  •  outside.  A  word  in  thy  ear :  Lucifer  was  thy  tapster, 
I  trow. 

Sir  Thomas.  Irreverent  swine  !  hast  no  awe  nor  shame? 
Thou  hast  aggravated  thy  offence,  William  Shakspeare,  by  thy 
foul-mouthedness. 

Sir  Silas.  I  must  remind  your  worship  that  he  not  only  has 
committed  this  iniquity  afore,  but  hath  pawed  the  puddle  he 
made,  and  relapsed  into  it  after  due  caution  and  reproof.  God 
forbid  that  what  he  spake  against  me,  out  of  the  gall  of  his 
proud  stomach,  should  move  me.  I  defy  him,  a'  low  ignorant 

wretch,  a  rogue  and  vagabond,  a  thief  and  cut-throat,  a * 

monger  and  mutton-eater. 

Shakspeare.  Your  worship  doth  hear  the  learned  clerk's 
testimony  in  my  behalf.  "  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and 
sucklings — " 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  the  youth  has  failings, —  a  madcap  ;  but 
he  is  pious. 

Shakspeare.  Alas,  no,  sir  !  Would  I  were  !  But  Sir  Silas, 
like  the  prophet,  came  to  curse  and  was  forced  to  bless  me, 
even  me,  a  sinner,  a  mutton-eater  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  urgedst  him.  He  beareth  no  ill-will  to- 
ward thee.  Thou  knewedst,  I  suspect,  that  the  blackness  in 
his  mouth  proceeded  from  a  natural  cause. 

Shakspeare.  The  Lord  is  merciful !  I  was  brought  hither  in 
jeopardy ;  I  shall  return  in  joy.  Whether  my  innocence  be  de- 
clared or  otherwise,  my  piety  and  knowledge  will  be  forwarded 
and  increased ;  for  youjr  worship  will  condescend,  even  from 
the  judgment-seat,  to  enlighten  the  ignorant  where  a  soul  shall 
be  saved  or  lost !  And  I,  even  I,  may  trespass  a  moment  on 

1  Here  the  manuscript  is  blotted ;  but  the  probability  is,  that  it  -wasJisA- 
monger,  rather  than  ironmonger,  fishmongers  having  always  been  notorious 
cheats  and  liars. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  183 

your  courtesy.  I  quail  at  the  words  natural  cause.  Be  there 
any  such? 

Sir  Thomas.  Youth,  I  never  thought  thee  so  staid.  Thou 
hast,  for  these  many  months,  been  represented  unto  me  as  one 
dissolute  and  light,  much  given  unto  mummeries  and  mysteries, 
wakes  and  carousals,  cudgel-fighters  and  mountebanks,  and 
wanton  women.  They  do  also  represent  of  thee  (I  hope  it  may 
be  without  foundation)  that  thou  enactest  the  parts,  not  simply 
of  foresters  and  fairies,  girls  in  the  green-sickness  and  friars, 
lawyers  and  outlaws,  but  likewise,  having  small  reverence  for 
station,  of  kings  and  queens,  knights  and  privy-councillors,  in 
all  their  glory.  It  hath  been  whispered  moreover,  and  the  testi- 
mony of  these  two  witnesses  doth  appear  in  some  measure  to 
countenance  and  confirm  it,  that  thou  hast  at  divers  times  this 
last  summer  been  seen  and  heard  alone,  inasmuch  as  human 
eye  may  discover,  on  the  narrow  slip  of  green-sward  between 
the  Avon  and  the  chancel,  distorting  thy  body  like  one  possessed, 
and  uttering  strange  language,  like  unto  incantation.  This  how- 
ever cometh  not  before  me.  Take  heed  !  take  heed  unto  thy 
ways  !  there  are  graver  things  in  law  even  than  homicide  and 
deer-stealing. 

Sir  Silas.  And  strong  against  him.  Folks  have  been  con- 
sumed at  the  stake  for  pettier  felonies  and  upon  weaker 
evidence. 

Sir  Thomas.     To  that  anon. 

—  William  Shakspeare  did  hold  down  his  head,  answering 
nought.  And  Sir  Thomas  spake  again  unto  him,  as  one  mild 
and  fatherly,  if  so  be  that  such  a  word  may  be  spoken  of  a 
knight  and  parliament-man.  And  these  are  the  words  he 
spake  :  — 

"  Reason  and  ruminate  with  thyself  now.  To  pass  over  and 
pretermit  the  danger  of  representing  the  actions  of  the  others, 
and  mainly  of  lawyers  and  churchmen,  —  the  former  of  whom 
do  pardon  no  offences,  and  the  latter  those  only  against  God 
(having  no  warrant  for  more),  —  canst  thou  believe  it  innocent 
to  counterfeit  kings  and  queens?  Supposest  thou  that  if  the 
impression  of  their  faces  on  a  farthing  be  felonious  and  rope- 
worthy,  the  imitation  of  head  and  body,  voice  and  bearing, 
plume  and  strut,  crown  and  mantle,  and  everything  else  that 
maketh  them  royal  and  glorious,  be  aught  less?  Perpend, 


184  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

young  man,  perpend  !  Consider  who  among  inferior  mortals 
shall  imitate  them  becomingly?  Dreamest  thou  they  talk  and 
act  like  checkmen  at  Banbury  Fair?  How  can  thy  shallow 
brain  suffice  for  their  vast  conceptions  ?  How  darest  thou  say, 
as  they  do,  Hang  this  fellow,  quarter  that,  flay,  mutilate,  stab, 
shoot,  press,  hook,  torture,  burn  alive?  These  are  royalties. 
Who  appointed  thee  to  such  office  ?  The  Holy  Ghost  ?  He 
alone  can  confer  it ;  but  when  wert  thou  anointed  ?  " 

William  was  so  zealous  in  storing  up  these  verities  that  he 
looked  as  though  he  were  unconscious  that  the  pouring-out 
was  over.  He  started,  which  he  had  not  done  before,  at  the 
voice  of  Master  Silas ;  but  soon  recovered  his  complacency, 
and  smiled  with  much  serenity  at  being  called  low-minded 
varlet. 

"  Low-minded  varlet !  "  cried  Master  Silas,  most  contemptu- 
ously, "  dost  thou  imagine  that  king  calleth  king,  like  thy 
chums,  flicker  and  fibber,  whirligig  and  nincompoop  ?  Instead 
of  this  low  vulgarity  and  sordid  idleness,  ending  in  nothing,  they 
throw  at  one  another  such  fellows  as  thee  by  the  thousand,  and 
when  they  have  cleared  the  land,  render  God  thanks  and  make 
peace." 

Willy  did  now  sigh  out  his  ignorance  of  these  matters  ;  and 
he  sighed  mayhap  too  at  the  recollection  of  the  peril  he  had 
run  into,  and  had  ne'er  a  word  on  the  nail.1 

The  bowels  of  Sir  Thomas  waxed  tenderer  and  tenderer,  and 
he  opened  his  lips  in  this  fashion :  — 

"  Stripling  !  I  would  now  communicate  unto  thee,  on  finding 
thee  docile  and  assentaneous,  the  instruction  thou  needest  on 
the  signification  of  the  words  natural  cause,  if  thy  duty  toward 
thy  neighbor  had  been  first  instilled  into  thee." 

Whereupon  Master  Silas  did  interpose,  for  the  dinner-hour 
was  drawing  nigh. 

"  We  cannot  do  all  at  once,"  quoth  he.  "  Coming  out  of 
order,  it  might  harm  him.  Malt  before  hops,  the  world  over, 
or  the  beer  muddies." 

But  Sir  Thomas  was  not  to  be  pricked  out  of  his  form  even 
by  so  shrewd  a  pricker ;  and,  like  unto  one  who  heareth    not, 
he  continued  to  look  most  graciously  on  the  homely  vessel  that 
stood  ready  to  receive  his  wisdom. 
1  "  On  the  nail  "  appears  to  be  intended  to  express  "  ready  payment." 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  183 

"  Thy  mind,"  said  he,  "  being  unprepared  for  higher  cogita- 
tions, and  the  groundwork  and  religious  duty  not  being  well 
rammer-beaten  and  flinted,  I  do  pass  over  this  supererogatory 
point,  and  inform  thee  rather,  that  bucks  and  swans  and  herons 
have  something  in  their  very  names  announcing  them  of  knight- 
ly appurtenance,  and  (God  forefend  that  evil  do  ensue  there- 
from !)  that  a  goose  on  the  common,  or  a  game-cock  on  the 
loft  of  a  cottager  or  villager,  may  be  seized,  bagged,  and  ab- 
ducted with  far  less  offence  to  the  laws.  In  a  buck  there  is 
something  so  gainly  and  so  grand,  he  treadeth  the  earth  with 
such  ease  and  such  agility,  he  abstaineth  from  all  other  ani- 
mals with  such  punctilious  avoidance,  one  would  imagine  God 
created  him  when  he  created  knighthood.  In  the  swan  there 
is  such  purity,  such  coldness  is  there  in  the  element  he  inhab- 
iteth,  such  solitude  of  station,  that  verily  he  doth  remind  me 
of  the  Virgin  Queen  herself.  Of  the  heron  I  have  less  to  say, 
not  having  him  about  me ;  but  I  never  heard  his  lordly  croak 
without  the  conceit  that  it  resembled  a  chancellor's  or  a  pri- 
mate's. I  do  perceive,  William  Shakspeare,  thy  compunction 
and  contrition." 

Shakspeare.  I  was  thinking,  may  it  please  your  worship,  of 
the  game-cock  and  the  goose,  having  but  small  notion  of  herons. 
This  doctrine  of  abduction,  please  your  worship,  hath  been 
alway  inculcated  by  the  soundest  of  our  judges.  Would  they 
had  spoken  on  other  points  with  the  same  clearness  !  How 
many  unfortunates  might  thereby  have  been  saved  from  crossing 
the  Cordilleras  ! 1 

Sir  Thomas.  Ay,  ay  !  they  have  been  fain  to  fly  the  country 
at  last,  thither  or  elsewhere. 

—  And  then  did  Sir  Thomas  call  unto  him  Master  Silas,  and 
say,  "  Walk  we  into  the  bay-window.  And  thou  mayest  come, 
Ephraim." 

And  when  we  were  there  together,  —  I,  Master  Silas,  and  his 
worship,  —  did  his  worship  say  unto  the  chaplain,  but  oftener 
looking  toward  me  :  "I  am  not  ashamed  to  avouch  that  it  goeth 
against  me  to  hang  this  young  fellow,  richly  as  the  offence  in  its 
own  nature  doth  deserve  it ;  he  talketh  so  reasonably,  —  not 

1  Perhaps  a  pun  was  intended ;  or  possibly  it  might,  in  the  age  of  Eliz- 
abeth, have  been  a  vulgar  term  for  hanging,  although  we  find  no  trace 
of  the  expression  iri  other  books. 


186  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

indeed  so  reasonably,  but  so  like  unto  what  a  reasonable  man 
may  listen  to  and  reflect  on.  There  is  so  much  too  of  com- 
passion for  others  in  hard  cases,  and  something  so  very  near  in 
semblance  to  innocence  itself  in  that  airy  swing  of  light-heart- 
edness  about  him.  I  cannot  fix  my  eyes  (as  one  would  say) 
on  the  shifting  and  sudden  shade-and-shine,  which  cometh 
back  to  me,  do  what  I  will,  and  mazes  me  in  a  manner,  and 
blinks  me." 

At  this  juncture  I  was  ready  to  fall  upon  the  ground  before 
his  worship,  and  clasp  his  knees  for  Willy's  pardon.  But  he 
had  so  many  points  about  him  that  I  feared  to  discompose  'em, 
and  thus  make  bad  worse.  Besides  which,  Master  Silas  left  me 
but  scanty  space  for  good  resolutions,  crying,  "  He  may  be 
committed  to  save  time.  Afterward  he  may  be  sentenced  to 
death,  or  he  may  not." 

Sir  Thomas.  'T  were  shame  upon  me  were  he  not ;  't  were 
indication  that  I  acted  unadvisedly  in  the  commitment. 

Sir  Silas.  The  penalty  of  the  law  may  be  commuted,  if  ex- 
pedient, on  application  to  the  fountain  of  mercy  in  London. 

Sir  Thomas.  Maybe,  Silas,  those  shall  be  standing  round 
the  fount  of  mercy  who  play  in  idleness  and  wantonness  with  its 
waters,  and  let  them  not  flow  widely  nor  take  their  natural 
course.  Dutiful  gallants  may  encompass  it,  and  it  may  linger 
among  the  flowers  they  throw  into  it,  and  never  reach  the 
parched  lip  on  the  wayside. 

These  are  homely  thoughts,  —  thoughts  from  a-field,  thoughts 
for  the  study  and  housekeeper's  room ;  but  whenever  I  have 
given  utterance  unto  them,  as  my  heart  hath  often  prompted 
me  with  beatings  at  the  breast,  my  hearers  seemed  to  bear 
toward  me  more  true  and  kindly  affection  than  my  richest 
fancies  and  choicest  phraseologies  could  purchase. 

'Twere  convenient  to  bethink  thee,  should  any  other  great 
man's  park  have  been  robbed  this  season,  no  judge  upon  the 
bench  will  back  my  recommendation  for  mercy.  And  indeed 
how  could  I  expect  it?  Things  may  soon  be  brought  to  such 
a  pass  that  their  lordships  shall  scarcely  find  three  haunches 
each  upon  the  circuit. 

"  Well,  sir,"  quoth  Master  Silas,  "  you  have  a  right  to  go  on 
in  your  own  way.  Make  him  only  give  up  the  girl." 

Here  Sir  Thomas  reddened  with  righteous  indignation,  and 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  l8/ 

answered,  "  I  cannot  think  it !  such  a  stripling,  —  poor,  penni- 
less !  It  must  be  some  one  else." 

And  now  Master  Silas  did  redden  in  his  turn  redder  than  Sir 
Thomas,  and  first  asked  me,  "  What  the  devil  do  you  stare  at?  " 
And  then  asked  his  worship,  "  Who  should  it  be  if  not  the 
rogue?  "  and  his  lips  turned  as  blue  as  a  blue-bell. 

Then  Sir  Thomas  left  the  window  and  again  took  his  chair, 
and  having  stood  so  long  on  his  legs,  groaned  upon  it  to  ease 
him.  His  worship  scowled  with  all  his  might,  and  looked  ex- 
ceedingly wroth  and  vengeful  at  the  culprit,  and  said  unto  him, 
"  Hark  ye,  knave  !  I  have  been  conferring  with  my  learned 
clerk  and  chaplain  in  what  manner  I  may,  with  the  least  severity, 
rid  the  county  (which  thou  disgracest)  of  thee." 

William  Shakspeare  raised  up  his  eyes,  modestly  and  fear- 
fully, and  said  slowly  these  few  words,  which,  had  they  been  a 
better  and  nobler  man's,  would  deserve  to  be  written  in  letters 
of  gold.  I,  not  having  that  art  nor  substance,  do  therefore  write 
them  in  my  largest  and  roundest  character,  and  do  leave  space 
about  'em,  according  to  their  rank  and  dignity :  — 

"  Worshipful  sir !     A  WORD  IN  THE  EAR   is  OFTEN  AS  GOOD 

AS   A    HALTER   UNDER    IT,    AND    SAVES   THE    GROAT." 

"Thou  discoursest  well,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  "but  others  can 
discourse  well  likewise.  Thou  shalt  avoid  :  I  am  resolute." 

Shakspeare.  I  supplicate  your  honor  to  impart  unto  me,  in 
your  wisdom,  the  mode  and  means  whereby  I  may  surcease  to 
be  disgraceful  to  the  county. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  am  not  bloody-minded.  First,  thou  shalt 
have  the  fairest  and  fullest  examination.  Much  hath  been 
deposed  -against  thee  ;  something  may  come  forth  for  thy  ad- 
vantage. I  will  not  thy  death  ;  thou  shalt  not  die.  The  laws 
have  loopholes  like  castles,  both  to  shoot  from  and  to  let  folks 
down. 

Sir  Silas.  That  pointed  ear  would  look  the  better  for 
pairing,  and  that  high  forehead  can  hold  many  letters. 

—  Whereupon  did  William,  poor  lad,  turn  deadly  pale,  but 
spake  not. 

Sir  Thomas  then  abated  a  whit  of  his  severity,  and  said 
staidly :  "  Testimony  doth  appear  plain  and  positive  against 
thee  ;  nevertheless  am  I  minded  and  prompted  to  aid  thee 
myself,  in  disclosing  and  unfolding  what  thou  couldst  not  of 


1 88  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SIIAKSPEARE. 

thine  own  wits,  in  furtherance  of  thine  own  defence.  One 
witness  is  persuaded  and  assured  of  the  evil  spirit  having  been 
abroad,  and  the  punt  appeared  unto  him  diversely  from  what 
it  appeared  unto  the  other." 

Shakspeare.  If  the  evil  spirit  produced  one  appearance,  he 
might  have  produced  all,  with  deference  to  the  graver  judg- 
ment of  your  worship.  If  what  seemed  punt  was  devil,  what 
seemed  buck  might  have  been  devil  too ;  nay,  more  easily,  the 
horns  being  forthcoming.  Thieves  and  reprobates  do  resemble 
him  more  nearly  still ;  and  it  would  be  hard  if  he  could  not 
make  free  with  their  bodies,  when  he  has  their  souls  already. 

Sir  Thomas.  But,  then,  those  voices  !  and  thou  thyself, 
Will  Shakspeare  ! 

Shakspeare,  Oh,  might  I  kiss  the  hand  of  my  deliverer, 
whose  clear-sightedness  throweth  such  manifest  and  plenary 
light  upon  my  innocence? 

Sir  Thomas.     How  so  ?     What  light,  in  God's  name,  have 
I  thrown  upon  it  as  yet? 

Shakspeare.  Oh,  those  voices,  those  fairies  and  spirits  ! 
whence  came  they?  None  can  deal  with  'em  but  the  Devil, 
the  parson,  and  witches.  And  does  not  the  Devil  oftentimes 
take  the  very  form,  features,  and  habiliments  of  knights  and 
bishops  and  other  good  men,  to  lead  them  into  temptation 
and  destroy  them ;  or  to  injure  their  good  name,  in  failure  of 
seduction  ?  He  is  sure  of  the  wicked  :  he  lets  them  go  their 
ways  out  of  hand.  I  think  your  worship  once  delivered  some 
such  observation,  in  more  courtly  guise,  which  I  would  not 
presume  to  ape.  If  it  was  not  your  worship  it  was  our  glori- 
ous lady,  the  Queen,  or  the  wise  Master  Walsingham,  or  the 
great  Lord  Cecil.  I  may  have  marred  and  broken  it,  as  sluts 
do  a  pancake,  in  the  turning. 

Sir  Thomas.  Why,  ay,  indeed  !  I  had  occasion  once  to 
remark  as  much. 

Shakspeare.  So  have  I  heard  in  many  places ;  although  I 
was  not  present  when  Matthew  Atterend  fought  about  it  for 
the  honor  of  Kineton  hundred. 

Sir  Thomas.     Fought  about  it ! 

Shakspeare.  As  your  honor  recollects.  Not  but  on  other 
occasions  he  would  have  fought  no  less  bravely  for  the  queen. 

Sir  Thomas.     We  must  get  thee  through,  were  it  only  for 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  1 89 

thy  memory, — the  most  precious  gift  among  the  mental  powers 
that  Providence  hath  bestowed  upon  us.  I  had  half- forgotten 
the  thing  myself.  Thou  mayest  in  time  take  thy  satchel  for 
London,  and  aid  good  old  Master  Holingshed.  We  must  clear 
thee,  Will !  I  am  slow  to  surmise  that  there  is  blood  upon 
thy  hands  ! 

—  His  worship's  choler  had  all  gone  down  again  ;  and  he  sat 
as  cool  and  comfortable  as  a  man  sitteth  to  be  shaved.  Then 
called  he  upon  Euseby  Treen,  and  said,  "  Euseby  Treen,  tell 
us  whether  thou  observedst  anything  unnoticed  or  unsaid  by 
the  last  witness." 

Treen.  One  thing  only,  sir.  When  they  had  passed  the 
water,  an  owlet  hooted  after  them;  and  methought  if  they 
had  any  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes  they  would  have  turned 
back,  he  cried  so  lustily. 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  I  cannot  forbear  to  take  the  owlet  out  of 
your  mouth.  He  knocks  them  all  on  the  head  like  so  many 
mice.  Likely  story !  One  fellow  hears  him  cry  lustily,  the 
other  doth  not  hear  him  at  all. 

Carnaby.  Not  hear  him  !  A  body  might  have  heard  him 
at  Barford  or  Sherbourne. 

Sir  Thomas.  Why  didst  not  name  him?  Canst  not  an- 
swer me? 

Carnaby.  He  doubted  whether  punt  were  punt ;  I  doubted 
whether  owlet  were  owlet,  after  Lucifer  was  away  from  the 
roll-call.  We  say  "  speak  the  truth  and  shame  the  Devil ;  " 
but  shaming  him  is  one  thing,  your  honor,  and  facing  him 
another  !  I  have  heard  owlets,  but  never  owlet  like  him. 

Shakspeare.  The  Lord  be  praised  !  All,  at  last,  a-running 
to  my  rescue.  Owlet,  indeed  !  Your  worship  may  have  re- 
membered in  an  ancient  book,  —  indeed,  what  book  is  so 
ancient  that  your  worship  doth  not  remember  it  ?  —  a  book 
printed  by  Dr  Faustus. 

Sir  Thomas.     Before  he  dealt  with  the  Devil? 

Shakspeare.  Not  long  before  ;  it  being  the  very  book  that 
made  the  Devil  think  it  worth  his  while  to  deal  with  him. 

Sir  Thomas.  What  chapter  thereof  wouldst  thou  recall  unto 
my  recollection  ? 

Shakspeare.  That  concerning  owls,  with  the  grim  print 
afore  it.  Dr.  Faustus,  the  wise  doctor,  who  knew  other  than 


I9O  CITATION   OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

owls  and  owlets,  knew  the  tempter  in  that  form.  Faustus 
was  not  your  man  for  fancies  and  figments ;  and  he  tells  us 
that  to  his  certain  knowledge  it  was  verily  an  owl's  face 
that  whispered  so  much  mischief  in  the  ear  of  our  first 
parent. 

"  One  plainly  sees  it,"  quoth  Dr.  Faustus,  "  under  that 
gravity  which  in  human  life  we  call  dignity,  but  of  which  we 
read  nothing  in  the  Gospel.  We  despise  the  hangman,  we  de- 
test the  hanged ;  and  yet,  saith  Duns  Scotus,  could  we  turn 
aside  the  heavy  curtain,  or  stand  high  enough  a-tiptoe  to  peep 
through  its  chinks  and  crevices,  we  should  perhaps  find  these 
two  characters  to  stand  justly  among  the  most  innocent  in  the 
drama.  He  who  blinketh  the  eyes  of  the  poor  wretch  about 
to  die  doeth  it  out  of  mercy ;  those  who  preceded  him,  bidding 
him  in  the  garb  of  justice  to  shed  the  blood  of  his  fellow-man, 
had  less  or  none.  So  they  hedge  well  their  own  grounds,  what 
care  they?  For  this  do  they  catch  at  stakes  and  thorns,  at 
quick  and  rotten  —  " 

Here  Master  Silas  interrupted  the  discourse  of  the  Devil's 
own  doctor,  delivered  and  printed  by  him  before  he  was  the 
Devil's,  to  which  his  worship  had  listened  very  attentively  and 
delightedly.  But  Master  Silas  could  keep  his  temper  no  longer, 
and  cried  fiercely,  "  Seditious  sermonizer  !  hold  thy  peace,  or 
thou  shalt  answer  for  't  before  convocation  !  " 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  thou  dost  not  approve  then  the  doctrine 
of  this  Dr.  Duns? 

Sir  Silas.     Heretical  rabbi ! 

Shakspeare.  If  two  of  a  trade  can  never  agree,  yet  surely 
two  of  a  name  may. 

Sir  Silas.  Who  dares  call  me  heretical ;  who  dares  call  me 
rabbi ;  who  dares  call  me  Scotus  ?  Spider  !  spider  !  yea,  thou 
hast  one  corner  left.  I  espy  thee,  and  my  broom  shall  reach 
thee  yet. 

Shakspeare.  I  perceive  that  Master  Silas  doth  verily  believe 
I  have  been  guilty  of  suborning  the  witnesses,  at  least  the  last, 
the  best  man  (if  any  difference)  of  the  two.  No,  sir,  no.  If 
my  family  and  friends  have  united  their  wits  and  money  for 
this  purpose,  be  the  crime  of  perverted  justice  on  their  heads  ! 
They  injure  whom  they  intended  to  serve.  Improvident  men 
(if  the  young  may  speak  thus  of  the  elderly)  !  could  they  im- 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  IQI 

agine  to  themselves  that  your  worship  was  to  be  hoodwinked 
and  led  astray? 

Sir  Thomas.  No  man  shall  ever  dare  to  hoodwink  me,  to 
lead  me  astray,  —  no,  nor  lead  me  anywise.  Powerful  defence  ! 
Heyday  !  Sit  quiet,  Master  Treen  !  Euseby  Treen,  dost  hear 
me?  Clench  thy  fist  again,  sirrah,  and  I  clap  thee  in  the 
stocks.  Joseph  Carnaby,  do  not  scratch  thy  breast  nor  thy 
pate  before  me. 

—  Now,  Joseph  had  not  only  done  that  in  his  wrath,  but 
had  unbuckled  his  leathern  garter,  fit  instrument  for  strife 
and  blood,  and  peradventure  would  have  smitten,  had  not 
the  knight,  with  magisterial  authority,  interposed. 

His  worship  said  unto  him  gravely,  "  Joseph'  Carnaby, 
Joseph  Carnaby,  hast  thou  never  read  the  words,  Put  up  thy 
sword?  " 

"Subornation!  your  worship,"  cried  Master  Joe.  "The 
fellow  hath  ne'er  a  shilling  in  leather  or  till,  and  many  must  go 
to  suborn  one  like  me." 

"  I  do  believe  it  of  thee,"  said  Sir  Thomas  ;  "  but  patience, 
man  !  patience  !  he  rather  tended  toward  exculpating  thee.  Ye 
have  far  to  walk  for  dinner ;  ye  may  depart." 

They  went  accordingly. 

Then  did  Sir  Thomas  say,  "  These  are  hot  men,  Silas." 

And  Master  Silas  did  reply  unto  him,  "  There  are  brands  that 
would  set  fire  to  the  bulrushes  in  the  mill-pool.  I  know  these 
twain  for  quiet  folks,  having  coursed  with  them  over  Wincott." 

Sir  Thomas  then  said  unto  William,  "  It  behooveth  thee  to 
stand  clear  of  yon  Joseph,  unless  when  thou  mayest  call  to  thy 
aid  the  Matthew  Atterend  thou  speakest  of.  He  did  then  fight 
valiantly,  eh?" 

Shakspeare.  His  cause  fought  valiantly  ;  his  fist  but  seconded 
it.  He  won,  —  proving  the  golden  words  to  be  no  property  of 
our  lady's,  although  her  Highness  hath  never  disclaimed  them. 

Sir  Thomas.     What  art  thou  saying? 

Shakspeare.  So  I  heard  from  a  preacher  at  Oxford,  who  had 
preached  at  Easter  in  the  chapel-royal  of  Westminster. 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  !  why  how  could  that  happen  ?  Oxford  ! 
chapel- royal ! 

Shakspeare.  And  to  whom  I  said  (your  worship  will  for- 
give my  forwardness),  "  I  have  the  honor,  sir,  to  live  within  two 


IQ2  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

measured  miles  of  the  very  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  who  spake  that ;  " 
and  I  vow  I  said  it  without  any  hope  or  belief  that  he  would 
invite  me,  as  he  did,  to  dine  with  him  thereupon. 

Sir  Thomas.  There  be  nigh  upon  three  miles  betwixt  this 
house  and  Stratford  bridge-end. 

Shakspeare.  I  dropped  a  mile  in  my  pride  and  exultation, 
God  forgive  me  !  I  would  not  conceal  my  fault. 

Sir  Thomas.  Wonderful !  that  a  preacher  so  learned  as  to 
preach  before  majesty  in  the  chapel-royal  should  not  have 
caught  thee  tripping  over  a  whole  lawful  mile,  a  good  third  of 
the  distance  between  my  house  and  the  cross-roads.  This  is 
incomprehensible  in  a  scholar. 

Shakspeare.  God  willed  that  he  should  become  my  teacher, 
and  in  the  bowels  of  his  mercy  hid  my  shame. 

Sir  Thomas.  How  earnest  thou  into  the  converse  of  such 
eminent  and  ghostly  men  ? 

Shakspeare.     How,  indeed  !     Everything  against  me. 

—  He  sighed  and  entered  into  a  long  discourse,  which  Mas- 
ter Silas  would  at  sundry  times  have  interrupted,  but  that  Sir 
Thomas  more  than  once  frowned  upon  him,  even  as  he  had 
frowned  heretofore  on  young  Will,  who  thus  began  and  con- 
tinued his  narration :  — 

"  Hearing  the  preacher  preach  at  St.  Mary's  (for  being  about 
my  father's  business  on  Saturday,  and  not  choosing  to  be  a- 
horseback  on  Sundays,  albeit  time-pressed,  I  footed  it  to  Ox- 
ford for  my  edification  on  the  Lord's  day,  leaving  the  sorrel 
with  Master  Hal  Webster  of  the  Tankard  and  Unicorn) ,  —  hear- 
ing him  preach,  as  I  was  saying,  before  the  University  in  St. 
Mary's  church,  and  hearing  him  use  moreover  the  very  words 
that  Matthew  fought  about,  I  was  impatient  (God  forgive  me  !) 
for  the  end  and  consummation,  and  I  thought  I  never  should 
hear  those  precious  words  that  ease  every  man's  heart,  '  Now, 
to  conclude.'  However,  come  they  did.  I  hurried  out  among 
the  foremost,  and  thought  the  congratulations  of  the  other 
doctors  and  dons  would  last  forever.  He  walked  sharply  off, 
and  few  cared  to  keep  his  pace,  for  they  are  lusty  men  mostly, 
and  spiteful  bad  women  had  breathed l  in  the  faces  of  some 
among  them,  or  the  gowns  had  got  between  their  legs.  For 

1  In  that  age  there  was  prevalent  a  sort  of  cholera,  on  which  Fracas- 
torius,  half  a  century  before,  wrote  a  Latin  poem,  employing  the  graceful 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  IQ3 

my  part,  I  was  not  to  be  balked ;  so,  tripping  on  aside  him,  I 
looked  in  his  face  askance.  Whether  he  misgave,  or  how,  he 
turned  his  eyes  downward.  No  matter,  have  him  I  would.  I 
licked  my  lips  and  smacked  them  loud  and  smart,  and  scarcely 
venturing  to  nod,  I  gave  my  head  such  a  sort  of  motion  as  dace 
and  roach  give  an  angler's  quill  when  they  begin  to  bite.  And 
this  fairly  hooked  him. 

"  '  Young  gentleman,'  said  he,  '  where  is  your  gown?  ' 

"  '  Reverend  sir,'  said  I,  '  I  am  unworthy  to  wear  one.' 

"  *  A  proper  youth,  nevertheless,  and  mightily  well  spoken  ! ' 
he  was  pleased  to  say. 

" '  Your  reverence  hath  given  me  heart,  which  failed  me,' 
was  my  reply.  *  Ah,  your  reverence,  those  words  about  the 
Devil  were  spicy  words  ;  but  under  favor,  I  do  know  the  brook- 
side  they  sprang  and  flowered  by.  'T  is  just  where  it  runs  into 
Avon  ;  't  is  called  Hog-brook.' 

"  '  Right,'  quoth  he,  putting  his  hand  gently  on  my  shoulder ; 
1  but  if  I  had  thought  it  needful  to  say  so  in  my  sermon,  I  should 
have  affronted  the  seniors  of  the  University,  since  many  claim 
them,  and  some  peradventure  would  fain  transpose  them  into 
higher  places,  and  giving  up  all  right  and  title  to  them,  would 
accept  in  lieu  thereof  the  poor  recompense  of  a  mitre.' 

"I  wished  (unworthy  wish  for  a  Sunday!)  I  had  Matthew 
Atterend  in  the  midst  of  them.  He  would  have  given  them 
skulls  mitre-fashioned,  if  mitres  are  cloven  now  as  we  see  them 
on  ancient  monuments.  Matt  is  your  milliner  for  gentles,  who 
think  no  more  harm  of  purloining  rich  saws  in  a  mitre  than 
lane-born  -  boys  do  of  embezzling  hazel-nuts  in  a  woollen  cap. 
I  did  not  venture  to  expound  or  suggest  my  thoughts ;  but 
feeling  my  choler  rise  higher  and  higher,  I  craved  permission 
to  make  my  obeisance  and  depart. 

"  '  Where  dost  thou  lodge,  young  man  ?  '  said  the  preacher. 

nymphs  of  Homer  and  Hesiod,  somewhat  disguised,  in  the  drudgery  of 
pounding  certain  barks  and  minerals.  An  article  in  the  Impeachment  of 
Cardinal  Wolsey  accuses  him  of  breathing  in  the  king's  face,  knowing 
that  he  was  affected  with  this  cholera.  It  was  a  great  assistant  to  the 
Reformation,  by  removing  some  of  the  most  vigorous  champions  that  op- 
posed it.  In  the  Holy  College  it  was  followed  by  the  sweating  sickness, 
which  thinned  it  very  sorely;  and  several  even  of  God's  vicegerents  were 
laid  under  tribulation  by  it.  Among  the  chambers  of  the  Vatican  it  hung 
for  ages,  and  it  crowned  the  labors  of  Pope  Leo  XII.,  of  blessed  memory, 
with  a  crown  somewhat  uneas. 


194  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  '  At  the  public,'  said  I,  '  where  my  father  customarily  lodg- 
eth.  There  too  is  a  mitre  of  the  old  fashion,  swinging  on  the 
sign-post  in  the  middle  of  the  street.' 

" '  Respectable  tavern  enough,'  quoth  the  reverend  doctor ; 
'  and  worthy  men  do  turn  in  there,  even  quality,  —  Master 
Davenant,  Master  Powel,  Master  Whorwood,  aged  and  grave 
men.  But  taverns  are  Satan's  chapels,  and  are  always  well 
attended  on  the  Lord's  day,  to  twit  him.  Hast  thou  no  friend 
in  such  a  city  as  Oxford  ?  ' 

" '  Only  the  landlady  of  the  Mitre,'  said  I. 

"  '  A  comely  woman,'  quoth  he,  '  but  too  young  for  business 
by  half.  Stay  thou  with  me  to-day,  and  fare  frugally,  but  safely. 
What  may  thy  name  be,  and  where  is  thy  abode  ? ' 

" ( William  Shakspeare,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  at  your 
service,  sir.' 

"  '  And  welcome,'  said  he  ;  '  thy  father  ere  now  hath  bought 
our  college  wool.  A  truly  good  man  we  ever  found  him  ;  and 
I  doubt  not  he  hath  educated  his  son  to  follow  him  in  his 
paths.  There  is  in  the  blood  of  man,  as  in  the  blood  of 
animals,  that  which  giveth  the  temper  and  disposition.  These 
require  nurture  and  culture.  But  what  nurture  will  turn  flint- 
stones  into  garden  mould,  or  what  culture  rear  cabbages  in  the 
quarries  of  Hedington  Hill?  To  be  well-born  is  the  greatest  of 
all  God's  primary  blessings,  young  man,  and  there  are  many 
well-born  among  the  poor  and  needy.  Thou  art  not  of  the 
indigent  and  destitute,  who  have  great  temptations ;  thou  art 
not  of  the  wealthy  and  affluent,  who  have  greater  still.  God 
hath  placed  thee,  William  Shakspeare,  in  that  pleasant  island, 
on  one  side  whereof  are  the  sirens,  on  the  other  the  harpies,  but 
inhabiting  the  coasts  on  the  wider  continent,  and  unable  to  make 
their  talons  felt  or  their  voices  heard  by  thee.  Unite  with  me  in 
prayer  and  thanksgiving  for  the  blessings  thus  vouchsafed.  We 
must  not  close  the  heart  when  the  finger  of  God  would  touch  it. 
Enough,  if  thou  sayest  only,  My  soul,  praise  thou  the  Lord  ! ' ' 

Sir  Thomas  said  "  Amen  !  "  Master  Silas  was  mute  for  the 
moment,  but  then  quoth  he,  "  I  can  say  Amen  too,  in  the 
proper  place." 

The  knight  of  Charlecote,  who  appeared  to  have  been  much 
taken  with  this  conversation,  then  interrogated  Willy :  "  What 
further  might  have  been  thy  discourse  with  the  doctor,  —  or 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  IQ5 

did  he  discourse  at  all  at  trencher-time?  Thou  must  have 
been  very  much  abashed  to  sit  down  at  table  with  one  who 
weareth  a  pure  lamb-skin  across  his  shoulder,  and  moreover 
a  pink  hood." 

Shakspeare.  Faith  !  was  I,  your  honor,  and  could  neither 
utter  nor  gulp. 

Sir  Thomas.  These  are  good  signs.  Thou  hast  not  lost 
all  grace. 

Shakspeare.     With  the  encouragement  of  Dr.  Glaston  — 

Sir  Thomas.     And  was  it  Dr.  Glaston? 

Shakspeare.     Said  I  not  so? 

Sir  Thomas.  The  learnedst  clerk  in  Christendom,  —  a  very 
Friar  Bacon  !  The  pope  offered  a  hundred  marks  in  Latin  to 
who  should  eviscerate  or  evirate  him  (poisons  very  potent, 
whereat  the  Italians  are  handy),  so  apostolic  and  desperate 
a  doctor  is  Dr.  Glaston,  —  so  acute  in  his  quiddities,  and  so 
resolute  in  his  bearing  !  He  knows  the  dark  arts,  but  stands 
aloof  from  them.  Prythee,  what  were  his  words  unto  thee  ? 

Shakspeare.     Manna,  sir,  manna  !  pure  from  the  desert ! 

Sir  Thomas.  Ay,  but  what  spake  he  ;  for  most  sermons  are 
that,  and  likewise  many  conversations  after  dinner? 

Shakspeare.  He  spake  of  the  various  races  and  qualities  of 
men,  as  before  stated,  but  chiefly  on  the  elect  and  reprobate, 
and  how  to  distinguish  and  know  them. 

Sir  Thomas.     Did  he  go  so  far? 

Shakspeare.  He  told  me  that  by  such  discussion  he  should 
say  enough  to  keep  me  constantly  out  of  evil  company. 

Sir  Thomas.  See  there,  see  there  !  and  yet  thou  art  come 
before  me  !  Can  nothing  warn  thee  ? 

Shakspeare.  I  dare  not  dissemble  nor  feign  nor  hold  aught 
back,  although  it  be  to  my  confusion.  As  well  may  I  speak 
at  once  the  whole  truth ;  for  your  worship  could  find  it  out  if 
I  abstained. 

Sir  Thomas.  Ay,  that  I  should  indeed,  and  shortly.  But, 
come  now,  I  am  sated  of  thy  follies  and  roguish  tricks,  and 
yearn  after  the  sound  doctrine  of  that  pious  man.  What  ex- 
pounded the  grave  Glaston  upon  signs  and  tokens  whereby  ye 
shall  be  known? 

Shakspeare.  Wonderful  things,  —  things  beyond  belief ! 
"There  be  certain  men,"  quoth  he  — 


IQ6  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.  He  began  well.  This  promises.  But  why 
canst  not  thou  go  on? 

Shakspeare.  "  There  be  certain  men  who  rubbing  one  corner 
of  the  eye  do  see  a  peacock's  feather  at  the  other,  and  even  fire. 
We  know,  William,  what  that  fire  is,  and  whence  it  cometh. 
Those  wicked  men,  William,  all  have  their  marks  upon  them, 
be  it  only  a  corn  or  a  wart  or  a  mole  or  a  hairy  ear  or  a 
toe-nail  turned  inward.  Sufficient,  and  more  than  sufficient ! 
He  knoweth  his  own  by  less  tokens.  There  is  not  one  of 
them  that  doth  not  sweat  at  some  secret  sin  committed,  or 
some  inclination  toward  it  unsnaffled.  Certain  men  are  there 
likewise  who  venerate  so  little  the  glorious  works  of  the  Crea- 
tor that  I  myself  have  known  them  to  sneeze  at  the  sun. 
Sometimes  it  was  against  their  will,  and  they  would  gladly 
have  checked  it  had  they  been  able ;  but  they  were  forced  to 
show  what  they  are.  In  our  carnal  state  we  say,  What  is  one 
against  numbers?  In  another,  we  shall  truly  say,  What  are 
numbers  against  one?" 

—  Sir  Thomas  did  ejaculate,  "Amen  !  Amen  !  "  And  then 
his  lips  moved  silently,  piously,  and  quickly ;  and  then  said 
he,  audibly  and  loudly,  "  And  make  us  at  last  true  Israelites  !  " 
After  which  he  turned  to  young  Willy,  and  said  anxiously,  "  Hast 
thou  more,  lad?  Give  us  it  while  the  Lord  strengthened." 

'•'Sir,"  answered  Willy,  "although  I  thought  it  no  trouble 
on  my  return  to  the  Mitre  to  write  down  every  word  I  could 
remember,  and  although  few  did  then  escape  me,  yet  at  this 
present  I  can  bring  to  mind  but  scanty  sentences,  and  those  so 
stray  and  out  of  order  that  they  would  only  prove  my  incapacity 
for  sterling  wisdom,  and  my  incontinence  of  spiritual  treasure." 

Sir  Thomas.  Even  that  sentence  hath  a  twang  of  the  doctor 
in  it.  Nothing  is  so  sweet  at,  humility.  The  mountains  may 
descend,  but  the  valleys  cannot  rise.  Every  man  should  know 
himself.  Come,  repeat  what  thou  canst.  I  would  fain  have 
three  or  four  more  heads. 

Shakspeare.  I  know  not  whether  I  can  give  your  worship 
more  than  one  other.  Let  me  try.  It  was  when  Dr.  Glaston 
was  discoursing  on  the  protection  the  wise  and  powerful  should 
afford  to  the  ignorant  and  weak  :  — 

"In  the  earlier  ages  of  mankind,  your  Greek  and  Latin 
authors  inform  you,  there  went  foith  sundry  worthies,  men  of 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM^  SHAKSPEARE.  IQ/ 

might  to  deliver,  not  wandering  damsels,  —  albeit  for  those 
likewise  they  had  stowage, — but  low-conditioned  men,  who  fell 
under  the  displeasure  of  the  higher,  and  groaned  in  thraldom 
and  captivity.  And  these  mighty  ones  were  believed  to  have 
done  such  services  to  poor  humanity  that  their  memory  grew 
greater  than  they,  as  shadows  do  than  substances  at  day- fall. 
And  the  sons  and  grandsons  of  the  delivered  did  laud  and 
magnify  those  glorious  names ;  and  some  in  gratitude,  and 
some  in  tribulation,  did  ascend  the  hills,  which  appeared  unto 
them  as  altars  bestrewn  with  flowers  and  herbage  for  Heaven's 
acceptance.  And  many  did  go  far  into  the  quiet  groves,  under 
lofty  trees,  looking  for  whatever  was  mightiest  and  most  pro- 
tecting ;  and  in  such  places  did  they  cry  aloud  unto  the  mighty, 
who  had  left  them,  '  Return,  return  !  help  us,  help  us  !  be 
blessed  !  forever  blessed  !  " 

"  Vain  men  !  but,  had  they  stayed  there,  not  evil.  Out  of 
gratitude,  purest  gratitude,  rose  idolatry.  For  the  Devil  sees 
the  fairest,  and  soils  it. 

"  In  these  our  days,  methinks,  whatever  other  sins  we  may 
fall  into,  such  idolatry  is  the  least  dangerous.  For  neither  on 
the  one  side  is  there  much  disposition  for  gratitude,  nor  on  the 
other  much  zeal  to  deliver  the  innocent  and  oppressed.  Even 
this  deliverance,  although  a  merit  and  a  high  one,  is  not  the 
highest.  Forgiveness  is  beyond  it.  Forgive,  or  ye  shall  not 
be  forgiven.  This  ye  may  do  every  day ;  for  if  ye  find  not 
offences,  ye  feign  them, — and  surely  ye  may  remove  your  own 
work,  if  ye  may  remove  another's.  To  rescue  requires  more 
thought  and  wariness  :  learn  then  the  easier  lesson  first.  After- 
ward, when  ye  rescue  any  from  another's  violence,  or  from  his 
own  (which  oftentimes  is  more  dangerous,  as  the  enemies  are 
within  not  only  the  penetrals  of  his  house  but  of  his  heart), 
bind  up  his  wounds  before  ye  send  him  on  his  way.  Should 
ye  at  any  time  overtake  the  erring,  and  resolve  to  deliver  him 
up,  I  will  tell  you  whither  to  conduct  him.  Conduct  him  to 
his  lord  and  Master,  whose  household  he  hath  left.  It  is 
better  to  consign  him  to  Christ  his  Saviour  than  to  man  his 
murderer;  it  is  better  to  bid  him  live  than  to  bid  him  die. 
The  one  word  our  Teacher  and  Preserver  said,  the  other  our 
enemy  and  destroyer.  Bring  him  back  again,  the  stray,  the 
lost  one ;  bring  him  back,  not  with  clubs  and  cudgels,  not  with 


198  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

halberts  and  halters,  but  generously  and  gently,  and  with  the 
linking  of  the  arm.  In  this  posture  shall  God  above  smile 
upon  ye ;  in  this  posture  of  yours  he  shall  recognize  again  his 
beloved  Son  upon  earth.  Do  ye  likewise,  and  depart  in  peace." 

—  William  had  ended,  and  there  was  silence  in  the  hall  for 
some   time   after,  when  Sir  Thomas   said  :    "  He   spake  unto 
somewhat  mean  persons,  who  may  do  it  without  disparage- 
ment.    I  look  for  authority,  I  look  for  doctrine,  and  find  none 
yet.     If  he  could  not  have  drawn  us  out  a  thread  or  two  from 
the  coat  of  an  apostle,  he  might  have  given  us  a  smack  of 
Augustine,  or  a  sprig  of  Basil.     Our  older  sermons  are  headier 
than  these,  Master  Silas ;  our  new  beer  is  the  sweeter  and 
clammier,  and  wants  more  spice.     The  doctor  hath  seasoned 
his  with   pretty  wit   enough  (to  do  him  justice),  which  in  a 
sermon  is  never  out  of  place ;  for  if  there  be  the  bane,  there 
likewise    is    the    antidote.     What    dost    thou    think    about    it, 
Master  Silas?" 

Sir  Silas.  I  would  not  give  ten  farthings  for  ten  folios  of 
such  sermons. 

Shakspeare.  These  words,  Master  Silas,  will  oftener  be 
quoted  than  any  others  of  thine,  but  rarely  (do  I  suspect)  as 
applicable  to  Dr.  Glaston.  I  must  stick  unto  his  gown.  I 
must  declare  that,  to  my  poor  knowledge,  many  have  been 
raised  to  the  bench  of  bishops  for  less  wisdom,  and  worse,  than 
is  contained  in  the  few  sentences  I  have  been  commanded  by 
authority  to  recite.  No  disparagement  to  anybody  !  I  know, 
Master  Silas,  and  multitudes  bear  witness,  that  thou  above 
most  art  a  dead  hand  at  a  sermon. 

Sir  Silas.     Touch  my  sermons,  wilt  dare  ? 

Shakspeare.  Nay,  Master  Silas,  be  not  angered ;  it  is 
courage  enough  to  hear  them. 

Sir  Thomas.  Now,  Silas,  hold  thy  peace,  and  rest  con- 
tented. He  hath  excused  himself  unto  thee,  throwing  in  a 
compliment  far  above  his  station,  and  not  unworthy  of  Rome 
or  Florence.  I  did  not  think  him  so  ready.  Our  Warwick- 
shire lads  are  fitter  for  football  than  courtesies ;  and,  sooth  to 
say,  not  only  the  inferior. 

—  His  worship  turned   from   Master  Silas  toward  William, 
and  said,  "  Brave  Willy,  thou  hast  given  us  our  bitters ;   we 
are  ready  now  for  anything  solid.     What  hast  left?" 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Shakspeare.     Little  or  nothing,  sir. 

Sir  Thomas.     Well,  give  us  that  little  or  nothing. 
—  William  Shakspeare  was  obedient  to  the  commands  of  Sir 
Thomas,  who  had  spoken  thus  kindly  unto  him,  and  had  deigned 
to  cast  at  him  from  his  "  lordly  dish  "  (as  the  Psalmist  hath  it) 
a  fragment  of  facetiousness. 

•   Shakspeare.     Alas,  sir  !  may  I  repeat  it  without  offence,  it 
not  being  doctrine  but  admonition,  and  meant  for  me  only  ? 

Sir  Thomas.     Speak  it  the  rather  for  that. 

Then  did  William  give  utterance  to  the  words  of  the  preacher, 
not  indeed  in  his  sermon  at  St.  Mary's,  but  after  dinner  :  — 

"  Lust  seizeth  us  in  youth,  ambition  in  midlife,  avarice  in 
old  age  ;  but  vanity  and  pride  are  the  besetting  sins  that  drive 
the  angels  from  our  cradle,  pamper  us  with  luscious  and  most 
unwholesome  food,  ride  our  first  stick  with  us,  mount  our  first 
horse  with  us,  wake  with  us  in  the  morning,  dream  with  us  in 
the  night,  and  never  at  any  time  abandon  us.  In  this  world, 
beginning  with  pride  and  vanity,  we  are  delivered  over  from 
tormentor  to  tormentor,  until  the  worst  tormentor  of  all  taketh 
absolute  possession  of  us  forever,  seizing  us  at  the  mouth  of 
the  grave,  enchaining  us  in  his  own  dark  dungeon,  standing  at 
the  door,  and  laughing  at  our  cries.  But  the  Lord,  out  of  his 
infinite  mercy,  hath  placed  in  the  hand  of  every  man  the  helm 
to  steer  his  course  by,  pointing  it  out  with  his  finger,  and 
giving  him  strength  as  well  as  knowledge  to  pursue  it. 

"  William,  William  !  there  is  in  the  moral  straits  a  current 
from  right  to  wrong,  but  no  reflux  from  wrong  to  right,  —  for 
which  destination  we  must  hoist  our  sails  aloft  and  ply  our  oars 
incessantly,  or  night  and  the  tempest  will  overtake  us,  and 
we  shall  shriek  out  in  vain  from  the  billows,  and  irrecoverably 
sink." 

"  Amen  !  "  cried  Sir  Thomas  most  devoutly,  sustaining  his 
voice  long  and  loud.  "  Open  that  casement,  good  Silas ;  the 
day  is  sultry  for  the  season  of  the  year ;  it  approacheth  unto 
noontide.  The  room  is  close,  and  those  blue  flies  do  make  a 
strange  hubbub." 

Shakspeare.  In  troth  do  they,  sir;  they  come  from  the 
kitchen,  and  do  savor  woundily  of  roast  goose  !  And,  me- 
thinks  — 

Sir  Thomas.     What  bethinkest  thou  ? 


2OO  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Shakspeare.  The  fancy  of  a  moment,  —  a  light  and  vain 
one. 

Sir  Thomas.     Thou  relievest  me  ;  speak  it. 

Shakspeare.  How  could  the  creatures  cast  their  coarse  rank 
odor  thus  far,  even  into  your  presence  ?  A  noble  and  spacious 
hall !  Charlecote,  in  my  mind,  beats  Warwick  Castle,  and 
challenges  Kenilworth. 

Sir  Thomas.  The  hall  is  well  enough,  —  I  must  say  it  is  a 
noble  hall,  a  hall  for  a  queen  to  sit  down  in.  And  I  stuffed  an 
arm-chair  with  horse-hair  on  purpose,  feathers  over  it,  swan- 
down  over  them  again,  and  covered  it  with  scarlet  cloth  of 
Bruges,  five  crowns  the  short  ell.  But  her  Highness  came  not 
hither ;  she  was  stopped  short ;  she  had  a  tongue  in  her  ear. 

Shakspeare.     Where  all  is  spring,  all  is  buzz  and  murmur. 

Sir  Thomas.  Quaint  and  solid  as  the  best  yew-hedge  !  I 
marvel  at  thee.  A  knight  might  have  spoken  it  under  favor. 
They  stopped  her  at  Warwick  —  to  see  what  ?  two  old  towers 
that  don't  match  ! l  Charlecote  Hall,  I  could  have  told  her 
sweet  Highness,  was  built  by  those  Lucies  who  came  over  with 
Julius  Caesar  and  William  the  Conqueror,  with  cross  and  scal- 
lop-shell on  breast  and  beaver.  But,  honest  Willy  — 

Such  were  the  very  words ;  I  wrote  them  down  with  two 
signs  in  the  margent,  —  one  a  mark  of  admiration,  as  thus  (  !  )  ; 
the  other  of  interrogation  (so  we  call  it),  as  thus  (?  ). 

"But,  honest  Willy,  I  would  fain  hear  more,"  quoth  the 
knight,  "  about  the  learned  Dr.  Glaston.  He  seemeth  to  be  a 
man  after  God's  own  heart." 

Shakspeare.  Ay  is  he  !  Never  doth  he  sit  down  to  dinner 
but  he  readeth  first  a  chapter  of  the  Revelation ;  and  if  he 
tasteth  a  pound  of  butter  at  Carfax,  he  saith  a  grace  long 

enough  to  bring  an  appetite  for  a  baked  bull's zle.2  If 

this  be  not  after  God's  own  heart,  I  know  not  what  is. 

1  Sir  Thomas  seems  to  have  been  jealous  of  these  two  towers,  certainly 
the  finest  in  England.     If  Warwick  Castle  could  borrow  the   windows 
from  Kenilworth,  it  would  be  complete. 

2  Another  untoward  blot !    but  leaving  no  doubt  of  the  word.      The 
only  doubt  is,  whether  he  meant  the  muzzle  of  the  animal  itself  or  one 
of  those  leathern  muzzles  which  are  often  employed  to  coerce  the  vio- 
lence of  animals.      In  besieged  cities  men  have  been  reduced  to  such 
extremities.      But   the   muzzle  in   this   place   would  more   properly  be 
called  the  blinker,  which  is  often  put  upon  bulls  in  pastures  when  they 
are  vicious. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  2OI 

Sir  Thomas.  I  would  fain  confer  with  him,  but  that  Oxford 
lieth  afar  off,  —  a  matter  of  thirty  miles,  I  hear.  I  might  in- 
deed write  unto  him ;  but  our  Warwickshire  pens  are  mighty 
broad-nibbed,  and  there  is  a  something  in  this  plaguy  ink  of 
ours  sadly  ropy. 

"  I  fear  there  is,"  quoth  Willy. 

"  And  I  should  scorn,"  continued  his  worship,  "  to  write 
otherwise  than  in  a  fine  Italian  character,  to  the  master  of  a 
college  near  in  dignity  to  knighthood." 

Shakspeare.  Worshipful  sir,  is  there  no  other  way  of  com- 
municating but  by  person,  or  writing,  or  messages  ? 

Sir  Thomas.  I  will  consider  and  devise.  At  present  I  can 
think  of  none  so  satisfactory. 

—  And  now  did  the  great  clock  over  the  gateway  strike  ;  and 
Bill  Shakspeare  did  move  his  lips,  even  as  Sir  Thomas  had 
moved  his  erewhile  in  ejaculating.  And  when  he  had  wagged 
them  twice  or  thrice  after  the  twelve  strokes  of  the  clock  were 
over,  again  he  ejaculated  with  voice  also,  saying,  "  Mercy  upon 
us  !  how  the  day  wears  !  Twelve  strokes  !  Might  I  retire, 
please  your  worship,  into  the  chapel  for  about  three  quarters 
of  an  hour,  and  perform  the  service l  as  ordained  ?  " 

Before  Sir  Thomas  could  give  him  leave  or  answer,  did  Sir 
Silas  cry  aloud,  "  He  would  purloin  the  chalice,  worth  forty- 
eight  shillings,  and  melt  it  down  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he 
is  so  crafty." 

But  the  knight  was  more  reasonable,  and  said,  reprovingly, 
"  There  now,  Silas,  thou  talkest  widely,  and  verily  in  malice, 
if  there  be  any  in  thee." 

"  Try  him,"  answered  Master  Silas;  "I  don't  kneel  where 
he  does.  Could  he  have  but  his  wicked  will  of  me  he  would 
chop  my  legs  off,  as  he  did  the  poor  buck's." 

Sir  Thomas.  No,  no,  no  !  he  hath  neither  guile  nor  revenge 
in  him.  We  may  let  him  have  his  way,  now  that  he  hath  taken 
the  right  one. 

Sir  Silas.  Popery,  sheer  popery,  strong  as  hartshorn ! 
Your  papists  keep  these  outlandish  hours  for  their  Masses  and 

1  Let  not  this  countenance  the  opinion  that  Shakspeare  was  a  Roman 
Catholic.  His  contempt  of  priests  may  have  originated  from  the  unfair- 
ness of  Silas.  Friars  he  treats  kindly,  perhaps  in  return  for  somewhat 
less  services  than  Friar  Lawrence's  to  Romeo. 


2O2  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

mummery.  Surely  we  might  let  God  alone  at  twelve  o'clock  ! 
Have  we  no  bowels? 

Shakspeare.  Gracious  sir,  I  do  not  urge  it ;  and  the  time  is 
now  past  by  some  minutes. 

Sir  Thomas.     Art  thou  popishly  inclined,  William  ? 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  I  am  not  popishly  inclined  ;  I  am  not  in- 
clined to  pay  tribute  of  coin  or  understanding  to  those  who 
rush  forward  with  a  pistol  at  my  breast,  crying,  "  Stand,  or  you 
are  a  dead  man  !  "  I  have  but  one  guide  in  faith,  a  powerful, 
an  almighty  one.  He  will  not  suffer  to  waste  away  and  vanish 
the  faith  for  which  he  died.  He  hath  chosen  in  all  countries 
pure  hearts  for  its  depositaries ;  and  I  would  rather  take  it 
from  a  friend  and  neighbor,  intelligent  and  righteous  and  re- 
jecting lucre,  than  from  some  foreigner  educated  in  the  pride 
of  cities  or  in  the  moroseness  of  monasteries,  who  sells  me  what 
Christ  gave  me,  —  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  I  can  repeat  by 
heart  what  I  read  above  a  year  agone,  albeit  I  cannot  bring  to 
mind  the  title  of  the  book  in  which  I  read  it.  These  are  the 
words  :  — 

"The  most  venal  and  sordid  of  all  the  superstitions  that 
have  swept  and  darkened  our  globe  may  indeed,  like  African 
locusts,  have  consumed  the  green  corn  in  very  extensive  re- 
gions, and  may  return  periodically  to  consume  it ;  but  the 
strong  unwearied  laborer  who  sowed  it  hath  alway  sown  it  in 
other  places  less  exposed  to  such  devouring,  pestilences. 
Those  cunning  men  who  formed  to  themselves  the  gorgeous 
plan  of  universal  dominion  were  aware  that  they  had  a  better 
chance  of  establishing  it  than  brute  ignorance  or  brute  force 
could  supply,  and  that  soldiers  and  their  paymasters  were  sub- 
ject to  other  and  powerfuller  fears  than  the  transitory  ones  of 
war  and  invasion.  What  they  found  in  heaven  they  seized  ; 
what  they  wanted  they  forged. 

"  And  so  long  as  there  is  vice  and  ignorance  in  the  world,  so 
long  as  fear  is  a  passion,  their  dominion  will  prevail ;  but  their 
dominion  is  not,  and  never  shall  be,  universal.  Can  we 
wonder  that  it  is  so  general  ?  Can  we  wonder  that  anything  is 
wanting  to  give  it  authority  and  effect,  when  every  learned, 
every  prudent,  every  powerful,  every  ambitious  man  in  Europe 
for  above  a  thousand  years  united  in  the  league  to  consoli- 
date it? 


CITATION    OF   WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE.  2O3 

"  The  old  dealers  in  the  shambles,  where  Christ's  body  is 
exposed  for  sale  in  convenient  marketable  slices,  have  not 
covered  with  blood  and  filth  the  whole  pavement.  Beautiful 
usages  are  remaining  still,  kindly  affections,  radiant  hopes,  and 
ardent  aspirations  ! 

"  It  is  a  comfortable  thing  to  reflect  —  as  they  do,  and  as 
we  may  do  unblamably  —  that  we  are  uplifting  to  our  Guide 
and  Maker  the  same  incense  of  the  heart,  and  are  uttering  the 
very  words,  which  our  dearest  friends  in  all  quarters  of  the 
earth,  nay  in  heaven  itself,  are  offering  to  the  throne  of  grace 
at  the  same  moment. 

"Thus  are  we  together  through  the  immensity  of  space. 
What  are  these  bodies  ?  Do  they  unite  us  ?  No  ;  they  keep 
us  apart  and  asunder  even  while  we  touch.  Realms  and 
oceans,  worlds  and  ages,  open  before  two  spirits  bent  on 
heaven.  What  a  choir  surrounds  us  when  we  resolve  to  live 
unitedly  and  harmoniously  in  Christian  faith  !  " 

Sir  Thomas.     Now,  Silas,  what  sayest  thou  ? 

Sir  Silas.     Ignorant  fool ! 

Shakspeare.  Ignorant  fools  are  bearable,  Master  Silas ; 
your  wise  ones  are  the  worst. 

Sir  Thomas.     Prythee  no  bandying  of  loggerheads. 

Shakspeare,  — 

Or  else  what  mortal  man  shall  say 
Whose  shins  may  suffer  in  the  fray? 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  reasonest  aptly  and  timest  well.  And 
surely  being  now  in  so  rational  and  religious  a  frame  of  mind, 
thou  couldst  recall  to  memory  a  section,  or  head  or  two,  of 
the  sermon  holden  at  St.  Mary's.  It  would  do  thee  and  us  as 
much  good  as  "  Lighten  our  darkness,"  or  "  Forasmuch  as  it 
hath  pleased ;  "  and  somewhat  less  than  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  (may-be  less  than  one  quarter)  sufficeth. 

Sir  Silas.  Or  he  hangs  without  me.  I  am  for  dinner  in 
half  the  time. 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  Silas  !  he  hangeth  not  with  thee  or 
without  thee. 

Sir  Silas.  He  thinketh  himself  a  clever  fellow ;  but  he 
(look  ye)  is  the  cleverest  that  gets  off. 

"I  hold  quite  the  contrary,"  quoth  Will  Shakspeare,  winking 


2O4  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.       • 

at  Master  Silas,  from  the  comfort  and  encouragement  he  had 
just  received  touching  the  hanging. 

And  Master  Silas  had  his  answer  ready,  and  showed  that  he 
was  more  than  a  match  for  poor  Willy  in  wit  and  poetry.  He 
answered  thus :  — 

"  If  winks  are  wit, 
Who  wanteth  it  ? 

Thou  hadst  other  bolts  to  kill  bucks  withal.  In  wit,  sirrah, 
thou  art  a  mere  child." 

Shakspeare.  Little  dogs  are  jealous  of  children,  great  ones 
fondle  them. 

Sir  Thomas.  An  that  were  written  in  the  "Apocrypha," 
in  the  very  teeth  of  Bel  and  the  Dragon,  it  could  not  be  truer. 
I  have  witnessed  it  with  my  own  eyes,  over  and  over. 

Sir  Silas.  He  will  take  this  for  wit  likewise,  now  the  arms 
of  Lucy  do  seal  it. 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  they  may  stamp  wit,  they  may  further 
wit,  they  may  send  wit  into  good  company,  but  not  make  it. 

Shakspeare.     Behold  my  wall  of  defence  ! 

Sir  Silas.  An  thou  art  for  walls,  I  have  one  for  thee  from 
Oxford,  pithy  and  apposite,  sound  and  solid,  and  trimmed  up 
becomingly,  as  a  collar  of  brawn  with  a  crown  of  rosemary,  or 
a  boar's  head  with  a  lemon  in  the  mouth. 

Shakspeare.  Egad,  Master  Silas  !  those  are  your  walls  for 
lads  to  climb  over,  an  they  were  higher  than  Babel's. 

Sir  Silas.    Have  at  thee  ! 

Thou  art  a  wall 
To  make  the  ball 
Rebound  from. 

Thou  hast  a  back 
For  beadle's  crack 

To  sound  from,  to  sound  from. 

The  foolishest  dolts  are  the  ground- plot  of  the  most  wit,  as  the 
idlest  rogues  are  of  the  most  industry.  Even  thou  hast  brought 
wit  down  from  Oxford.  And  before  a  thief  is  hanged  Parlia- 
ment must  make  laws,  attorneys  must  engross  them,  printers 
stamp  and  publish  them,  hawkers  cry  them,  judges  expound 
them,  juries  weigh  and  measure  them  with  offences,  then  execu- 
tioners carry  them  into  effect.  The  farmer  hath  already  sown  the 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  2O5 

hemp,  the  rope-maker  hath  twisted  it ;  sawyers  saw  the  timber, 
carpenters  tack  together  the  shell,  grave-diggers  delve  the  earth. 
And  all  this  truly  for  fellows  like  unto  thee  ! 

Shakspeare.  Whom  a  God  came  down  from  heaven  to 
save  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  he  hangeth  not.  William,  I  must 
have  the  heads  of  the  sermon,  six  or  seven  of  'em ;  thou  hast 
whetted  my  appetite  keenly.  How  !  dost  duck  thy  pate  into 
thy  hat  ?  Nay,  nay,  that  is  proper  and  becoming  at  church  ;  we 
need  not  such  solemnity.  Repeat  unto  us  the  setting  forth  at 
St.  Mary's. 

—  Whereupon  did  William  Shakspeare  entreat  of  Master  Silas 
that  he  would  help  him  in  his  ghostly  endeavors,  by  repeating 
what  he  called  the  preliminary  prayer, — which  prayer  I  find  no- 
where in  our  ritual,  and  do  suppose  it  to  be  one  of  those  Latin 
supplications  used  in  our  learned  universities,  now  or  erewhile. 
I  am  afeard  it  hath  not  the  approbation  of  the  strictly  or- 
thodox, for  inasmuch  as  Master  Silas  at  such  entreaty  did 
close  his  teeth  against  it,  and  with  teeth  thus  closed  did  say, 
Athanasius-wise,  "  Go,  and  be  damned  !  " 

Bill  was  not  disheartened,  but  said  he  hoped  better,  and  be- 
gan thus  :  "  '  My  brethren  ! '  said  the  preacher,  *  or  rather  let 
me  call  you  my  children,  —  such  is  my  age  confronted  with 
yours,  for  the  most  part :  my  children,  then,  and  my  brethren 
(for  here  are  both),  believe  me,  killing  is  forbidden.'  " 

Sir  Thomas.  This,  not  being  delivered  unto  us  from  the 
pulpit  by  the  preacher  himself,  we  may  look  into.  Sensible 
man,  shrewd  reasoner,  what  a  stroke  against  deer-stealers  ! 
how  full  of  truth  and  ruth  !  Excellent  discourse  ! 

Shakspeare.     The  last  part  was  the  best. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  always  find  it  so.  The  softest  of  the  cheese- 
cake is  left  in  the  platter  when  the  crust  is  eaten.  He  kept 
the  best  bit  for  the  last,  then  ?  He  pushed  it  under  the  salt, 
eh  ?  He  told  thee  — 

Shakspeare.     Exactly  so. 

Sir  Thomas.     What  was  it? 

Shakspeare.     "Ye  shall  not  kill." 

Sir  Thomas.  How  !  did  he  run  in  a  circle  like  a  hare  ? 
One  of  his  mettle  should  break  cover  and  off  across  the 
country,  like  a  fox  or  hart. 


206  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Shakspeare.  "  And  yet  ye  kill  time  when  ye  can,  and  are 
uneasy  when  ye  cannot." 

Whereupon  did  Sir  Thomas  say  aside  unto  himself,  but  within 
my  hearing,  "  Faith  and  troth  !  he  must  have  had  a  head  in  at 
the  window  here  one  day  or  other." 

Shakspeare.     "  This  sin  crieth  unto  the  Lord." 

Sir  Thomas.  He  was  wrong  there.  It  is  not  one  of  those 
that  cry:  mortal  sins  cry.  Surely  he  could  not  have  fallen 
into  such  an  error  !  it  must  be  thine ;  thou  misunderstoodest 
him. 

Shakspeare.  Mayhap,  sir.  A  great  heaviness  came  over 
me ;  I  was  oppressed  in  spirit,  and  did  feel  as  one  awakening 
from  a  dream. 

Sir  Thomas.  Godlier  men  than  thou  art  do  often  feel  the 
right  hand  of  the  Lord  upon  their  heads  in  like  manner.  It 
followeth  contrition,  and  precedeth  conversion.  Continue. 

Shakspeare.  "  My  brethren  and  children,"  said  the  teacher, 
"  whenever  ye  want  to  kill  time  call  God  to  the  chase,  and  bid 
the  angels  blow  the  horn,  and  thus  ye  are  sure  to  kill  time  to 
your  heart's  content.  And  ye  may  feast  another  day,  and 
another  after  that  —  " 

—  Then  said  Master  Silas  unto  me  concernedly,  "This  is 
the  mischief-fullest  of  all  the  Devil's  imps,  to  talk  in  such  wise 
at  a  quarter  past  twelve  !  "  But  William  went  straight  on,  not 
hearing  him  :  — 

" — upon  what  ye  shall  in  such  pursuit  have  brought  home 
with  you.  Whereas,  if  ye  go  alone,  or  two  or  three  together, 
nay,  even  if  ye  go  in  thick  and  gallant  company,  and  yet  pro- 
vide not  that  these  be  with  ye,  my  word  for  it,  and  a  power- 
fuller  word  than  mine,  ye  shall  return  to  your  supper  tired  and 
jaded,  and  rest  little  when  ye  want  to  rest  most." 

"  Hast  no  other  head  of  the  doctor's?  "  quoth  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Verily  none,"  replied  Willy,  "  of  the  morning's  discourse, 
saving  the  last  words  of  it,  which,  with  God's  help,  I  shall  al- 
ways remember." 

"  Give  us  them,  give  us  them  !  "  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  He 
wants  doctrine,  he  wants  authority.  His  are  grains  of  millet, 
grains  for  unfledged  doves ;  but  they  are  sound,  except  the 
crying.  Deliver  unto  us  the  last  words ;  for  the  last  of  the 
preacher,  as  of  the  hanged,  are  usually  the  best." 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SIIAKSPEARE.  2O/ 

Then  did  William  repeat  the  concluding  words  of  the  dis- 
course, being  these  :  "  As  years  are  running  past  us,  let  us 
throw  something  on  them  which  they  cannot  shake  off  in  the 
dust  and  hurry  of  the  world,  but  must  carry  with  them  to 
that  great  year  of  all,  whereunto  the  lesser  of  this  mortal  life 
do  tend  and  are  subservient." 

Sir  Thomas,  after  a  pause,  and  after  having  bent  his  knee 
under  the  table,  as  though  there  had  been  the  church-cushion, 
said  unto  us,  "  Here  he  spake  through  a  glass,  darkly,  as 
blessed  Paul  hath  it." 

Then  turning  toward  Willy,  "And  nothing  more?  " 

"  Nothing  but  the  glory,"  quoth  Willy ;  "  at  which  there  is 
always  such  a  clatter  of  feet  upon  the  floor,  and  creaking  of 
benches,  and  rustling  of  gowns,  and  bustle  of  bonnets,  and 
justle  of  cushions,  and  dust  of  mats,  and  treading  of  toes,  and 
punching  of  elbows  from  the  spitefuller,  that  one  wishes  to  be 
fairly  out  of  it,  after  the  scramble  for  the  peace  of  God  is  at 
an  end  —  " 

Sir  Thomas  threw  himself  back  upon  his  arm-chair,  and  ex- 
claimed in  wonderment,  "  How  !  " 

Shakspeare.  —  and  in  the  midst  of  the  service  again,  were  it 
possible.  For  nothing  is  painfuller  than  to  have  the  pail  shaken 
off  the  head  when  it  is  brim- full  of  the  waters  of  life,  and  we 
are  walking  staidly  under  it. 

Sir  Thomas.  Had  the  learned  doctor  preached  again  in 
the  evening,  pursuing  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  he  might  per- 
adventure  have  made  up  the  deficiencies  I  find  in  him. 

Shakspeare.     He  had  not  that  opportunity. 

Sir  Thomas.     The  more  's  the  pity. 

Shakspeare.  The  evening  admonition,  delivered  by  him 
unto  the  household  — 

Sir  Thomas.  What !  and  did  he  indeed  show  wind  enough 
for  that  ?  Prythee  out  with  it,  if  thou  didst  put  it  into  thy 
tablets. 

Shakspeare.  Alack,  sir  !  there  were  so  many  Latin  words, 
I  fear  me  I  should  be  at  fault  in  such  attempt. 

Sir  Thomas.  Fear  not ;  we  can  help  thee  out  between  us, 
were  there  a  dozen  or  a  score. 

Shakspeare.  Bating  those  Latinities,  I  do  verily  think  I 
could  tie  up  again  most  of  the  points  in  his  doublet. 


2O8  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.     At  him,  then  !     What  was  his  bearing? 

Shakspeare.  In  dividing  his  matter,  he  spooned  out  and 
apportioned  the  commons  in  his  discourse  as  best  suited  the 
quality,  capacity,  and  constitution  of  his  hearers.  To  those  in 
priests'  orders  he  delivered  a  sort  of  catechism. 

Sir  Silas.  He  catechise  grown  men  !  He  catechise  men  in 
priests'  orders,  being  no  bishop,  nor  bishop's  ordinary ! 

Shakspeare.     He  did  so  ;  it  may  be  at  his  peril. 

Sir  Thomas.  And  what  else,  for  catechisms  are  baby's 
pap. 

Shakspeare.  He  did  not  catechise,  but  he  admonished,  the 
richer  gentlemen  with  gold  tassels  for  their  top-knots. 

Sir  Silas.  I  thought  as  much.  It  was  no  better  in  my 
time.  Admonitions  fell  gently  upon  those  gold  tassels,  and 
they  ripened  degrees  as  glass  and  sunshine  ripen  cucumbers. 
We  priests,  forsooth,  are  catechised  !  The  worst  question  to 
any  gold  tasseller  is,  "How  do  you  do?"  Old  Alma  Mater 
coaxes  and  would  be  coaxed ;  but  let  her  look  sharp,  or 
spectacles  may  be  thrust  upon  her  nose  that  shall  make  her 
eyes  water.  Aristotle  could  make  out  no  royal  road  to  wis- 
dom ;  but  this  old  woman  of  ours  will  show  you  one,  an  you 
tip  her.  Tilley  valley  ! 1  catechise  priests,  indeed  ! 

Sir  Thomas.  Peradventure  he  did  it  discreetly.  Let  us 
examine  and  judge  him.  Repeat  thou  what  he  said  unto 
them. 

Shakspeare.  "Many,"  said  he,  "are  ingenuous,  many  are 
devout,  some  timidly,  some  strenuously ;  but  nearly  all  flinch 
and  rear  and  kick  at  the  slightest  touch,  or  least  inquisitive 
suspicion  of  an  unsound  part  in  their  doctrine.  And  yet,  my 
brethren,  we  ought  rather  to  flinch  and  feel  sore  at  our  own 
searching  touch,  our  own  serious  inquisition  into  ourselves. 
Let  us  preachers,  who  are  sufficiently  liberal  in  bestowing  our 
advice  upon  others,  inquire  of  ourselves  whether  the  exercise 
of  spiritual  authority  may  not  be  sometimes  too  pleasant,  tick- 
ling our  breasts  with  a  plume  from  Satan's  wing,  and  turning 
our  heads  with  that  inebriating  poison  which  he  hath  been 
seen  to  instil  into  the  very  chalice  of  our  salvation.  Let  us 
ask  ourselves  in  the  closet,  whether,  after  we  have  humbled 

1  "  Tilley  valley  "  was  the  favorite  adjuration  of  James  the  Second.  It 
appears  in  the  comedies  of  Shakspeare. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  2OQ 

ourselves  before  God  in  our  prayers,  we  never  rise  beyond  the 
due  standard  in  the  pulpit ;  whether  our  zeal  for  the  truth  be 
never  over-heated  by  internal  fires  less  holy;  whether  we 
never  grow  stiffly  and  sternly  pertinacious,  at  the  very  time 
when  we  are  reproving  the  obstinacy  of  others ;  and  whether 
we  have  not  frequently  so  acted  as  if  we  believed  that  opposi- 
tion were  to  be  relaxed  and  borne  away  by  self-sufficiency  and 
intolerance.  Believe  me,  the  wisest  of  us  have  our  catechism 
to  learn ;  and  these,  my  dear  friends,  are  not  the  only  ques- 
tions contained  in  it.  No  Christian  can  hate,  no  Christian  can 
malign ;  nevertheless,  do  we  not  often  both  hate  and  malign 
those  unhappy  men  who  are  insensible  to  God's  mercies? 
And  I  fear  this  unchristian  spirit  swells  darkly,  with  all  its 
venom,  in  the  marble  of  our  hearts,  —  not  because  our  brother 
is  insensible  to  these  mercies,  but  because  he  is  insensible  to 
our  faculty  of  persuasion,  turning  a  deaf  ear  unto  our  claim 
upon  his  obedience,  or  a  blind  or  sleepy  eye  upon  the  fountain 
of  light,  whereof  we  deem  ourselves  the  sacred  reservoirs. 
There  is  one  more  question  at  which  ye  will  tremble  when  ye 
ask  it  in  the  recesses  of  your  souls  (I  do  tremble  at  it,  yet  must 
utter  it),  —  Whether  we  do  not  more  warmly  and  erectly 
stand  up  for  God's  word  because  it  came  from  our  mouths, 
than  because  it  came  from  his?  Learned  and  ingenious  men 
may  indeed  find  a  solution  and  excuse  for  all  these  proposi- 
tions ;  but  the  wise  unto  salvation  will  cry,  '  Forgive  me,  O  my 
God,  if,  called  by  thee  to  walk  in  thy  way,  I  have  not  swept 
this  dust  from  the  sanctuary  ! ' ' 

Sir  Thomas.  All  this,  methinks,  is  for  the  behoof  of  clerks 
and  ministers. 

Shakspeare.  He  taught  them  what  they  who  teach  others 
should  learn  and  practise.  Then  did  he  look  toward  the  young 
gentlemen  of  large  fortune,  and  lastly  his  glances  fell  upon  us 
poorer  folk,  whom  he  instructed  in  the  duty  we  owe  to  our 
superiors. 

Sir  Thomas.     Ay,  there  he  had  a  host. 

Shakspeare.  In  one  part  of  his  admonition  he  said : 
"Young  gentlemen,  let  not  the  highest  of  you  who  hear  me 
this  evening  be  led  into  the  delusion  (for  such  it  is)  that  the 
founder  of  his  family  was  originally  a  greater  or  a  better  man 
than  the  lowest  here.  He  willed  it,  and  became  it.  He  must 

«4 


2IO  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

have  stood  low ;  he  must  have  worked  hard,  and  with  tools 
moreover  of  his  own  invention  and  fashioning.  He  waved  and 
whistled  off  ten  thousand  strong  and  importunate  temptations  ; 
he  dashed  the  dice-box  from  the  jewelled  hand  of  Chance,  the 
cup  from  Pleasure's,  and  trod  under  foot  the  sorceries  of  each ; 
he  ascended  steadily  the  precipices  of  Danger,  and  looked 
down  with  intrepidity  from  the  summit ;  he  overawed  Arro- 
gance with  Sedateness ;  he  seized  by  the  horn  and  overleaped 
low  Violence ;  and  he  fairly  swung  Fortune  round. 

"  The  very  high  cannot  rise  much  higher,  the  very  low  may ; 
the  truly  great  must  have  done  it. 

"  This  is  not  the  doctrine,  my  friends,  of  the  silkenly  and 
lawnly  religious ;  it  wears  the  coarse  texture  of  the  fisherman, 
and  walks  uprightly  and  straightforward  under  it.  I  am  speak- 
ing now  more  particularly  to  you  among  us  upon  whom  God 
hath  laid  the  encumbrances  of  wealth,  the  sweets  whereof  bring 
teasing  and  poisonous  things  about  you,  not  easily  sent  away. 
What  now  are  your  pretensions  under  sacks  of  money,  or  your 
enjoyments  under  the  shade  of  genealogical  trees?  Are  they 
rational  ?  Are  they  real  ?  Do  they  exist  at  all  ?  Strange  in- 
consistency, to  be  proud  of  having  as  much  gold  and  silver 
laid  upon  you  as  a  mule  hath,  and  yet  to  carry  it  less  com- 
posedly !  The  mule  is  not  answerable  for  the  conveyance  and 
discharge  of  his  burden :  you  are.  Stranger  infatuation  still, 
to  be  prouder  of  an  excellent  thing  done  by  another  than  by 
yourselves,  supposing  any  excellent  thing  to  have  actually  been 
done ;  and,  after  all,  to  be  more  elated  on  his  cruelties  than 
his  kindnesses, — by  the  blood  he  hath  spilt  than  by  the  benefits 
he  hath  conferred,  —  and  to  acknowledge  less  obligation  to  a 
well-informed  and  well-intentioned  progenitor  than  to  a  lawless 
and  ferocious  barbarian  !  Would  stocks  and  stumps,  if  they 
could  utter  words,  utter  such  gross  stupidity?  Would  the 
apple  boast  of  his  crab  origin,  or  the  peach  of  his  prune? 
Hardly  any  man  is  ashamed  of  being  inferior  to  his  ancestors, 
although  it  is  the  very  thing  at  which  the  great  should  blush,  if 
indeed  the  great  in  general  descended  from  the  worthy.  I  did 
expect  to  see  the  day,  —  and  although  I  shall  not  see  it,  it 
must  come  at  last,  —  when  he  shall  be  treated  as  a  madman 
or  an  impostor  who  dares  to  claim  nobility  or  precedency,  and 
cannot  show  his  family  name  in  the  history  of  his  country. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  211 

Even  he  who  can  show  it,  and  who  cannot  write  his  own  under 
it  in  the  same  or  as  goodly  characters,  must  submit  to  the  im- 
putation of  degeneracy,  from  which  the  lowly  and  obscure  are 
exempt. 

"  He  alone  who  maketh  you  wiser,  maketh  you  greater ; 
and  it  is  only  by  such  an  implement  that  Almighty  God 
himself  effects  it.  When  he  taketh  away  a  man's  wisdom,  he 
taketh  away  his  strength,  his  power  over  others,  and  over  him- 
self. What  help  for  him  then  ?  He  may  sit  idly  and  swell  his 
spleen,  saying,  'Who  is  this?  Who  is  that? '  and  at  the  ques- 
tion's end  the  spirit  of  inquiry  dies  away  in  him.  It  would  not 
have  been  so  if  in  happier  hour  he  had  said  within  himself, 
'  Who  am  I  ?  What  am  I  ?  '  and  had  prosecuted  the  search  in 
good  earnest. 

"  When  we  ask  who  this  man  is,  or  who  that  man  is,  we  do 
not  expect  or  hope  for  a  plain  answer;  we  should  be  dis- 
appointed at  a  direct,  or  a  rational,  or  a  kind  one.  We  desire 
to  hear  that  he  was  of  low  origin,  or  had  committed  some 
crime,  or  been  subjected  to  some  calamity.  Whoever  he  be, 
in  general  we  disregard  or  despise  him,  unless  we  discover  that 
he  possesseth  by  nature  many  qualities  of  mind  and  body  which 
he  never  brings  into  use,  and  many  accessories  of  situation  and 
fortune  which  he  brings  into  abuse  every  day.  According  to 
the  arithmetic  in  practice,  he  who  makes  the  most  idlers  and 
the  most  ingrates  is  the  most  worshipful.  But  wiser  ones  than 
the  scorers  in  this  school  will  tell  you  how  riches  and  power 
were  bestowed  by  Providence  that  generosity  and  mercy  should 
be  exercised  :  for  if  every  gift  of  the  Almighty  were  distributed 
in  equal  portions  to  every  creature,  less  of  such  virtues  would 
be  called  into  the  field ;  consequently  there  would  be  less  of 
gratitude,  less  of  submission,  less  of  devotion,  less  of  hope,  and 
in  the  total,  less  of  content." 

—  Here  he  ceased,  and  Sir  Thomas  nodded,  and  said, 
"  Reasonable  enough  !  nay,  almost  too  reasonable  !  But  where 
are  the  apostles?  Where  are  the  disciples?  Where  are  the 
saints?  Where  is  hell-fire?  Well,  patience  !  we  may  come  to 
it  yet.  Go  on,  Will !  " 

With  such  encouragement  before  him,  did  Will  Shakspeare 
take  breath  and  continue  :  "  '  We  mortals  are  too  much  accus- 
tomed to  behold  our  superiors  in  rank  and  station  as  we  behold 


212  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

the  leaves  in  the  forest.  While  we  stand  under  these  leaves,  — 
our  protection  and  refuge  from  heat  and  labor,  —  we  see  only 
the  rougher  side  of  them,  and  the  gloominess  of  the  branches 
on  which  they  hang.  In  the  midst  of  their  benefits  we  are 
insensible  to  their  utility  and  their  beauty,  and  appear  to  be 
ignorant  that  if  they  were  placed  less  high  above  us,  we  should 
derive  from  them  less  advantage.'  " 

Sir  Thomas.  Ay ;  envy  of  superiority  made  the  angels  kick 
and  run  restive. 

Shakspeare.  May  it  please  your  worship,  with  all  my  faults, 
I  have  ever  borne  due  submission  and  reverence  toward  my 
superiors. 

Sir  Thomas.  Very  right !  very  scriptural !  But  most  folks 
do  that.  Our  duty  is  not  fulfilled  unless  we  bear  absolute 
veneration ;  unless  we  are  ready  to  lay  down  our  lives  and 
fortunes  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and  everything  else  at  the 
foot  of  those  who  administer  the  laws  under  virgin  majesty. 

Shakspeare.  Honored  sir,  I  am  quite  ready  to  lay  down  my 
life  and  fortune,  and  all  the  rest  of  me,  before  that  great  virgin. 

Sir  Silas.  Thy  life  and  fortune,  to  wit !  What  are  they 
worth?  A  June  cob-nut,  maggot  and  all. 

Sir  Thomas.  Silas,  we  will  not  repudiate  nor  rebuff  his 
Magdalen,  that  bringeth  a  pot  of  ointment.  Rather  let  us 
teach  and  tutor  than  twit.  It  is  a  tractable  and  conducible 
youth,  being  in  good  company. 

Sir  Silas.  Teach  and  tutor  !  Hold  hard,  sir.  These  base 
varlets  ought  to  be  taught  but  two  things,  —  to  bow  as  beseem- 
eth  them  to  their  betters,  and  to  hang  perpendicular.  We 
have  authority  for  it,  that  no  man  can  add  an  inch  to  his 
stature ;  but  by  aid  of  the  sheriff,  I  engage  to  find  a  chap  who 
shall  add  two  or  three  to  this  whoreson's.1 

Sir  Thomas.  Nay,  nay,  now,  Silas  !  the  lad's  mother  was 
always  held  to  be  an  honest  woman. 

1  "  Whoreson,"  if  we  may  hazard  a  conjecture,  means  the  son  of  a 
woman  of  ill-repute.  In  this  we  are  borne  out  by  the  context.  It  ap- 
pears to  have  escaped  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare.  • 

"  Whoreson,"  a  word  of  frequent  occurrence  in  the  comedies  ;  more 
rarely  found  in  the  tragedies.  Although  now  obsolete,  the  expression 
proves  that  there  were  (o-r  were  believed  to  be)  such  persons  formerly. 

(The  Editor  is  indebted  to  two  learned  friends  for  these  two  remarks, 
which  appear  no  less  just  than  ingenious.) 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  213 

Sir  Sl!as.      His  mother  may  be  an  honest  woman  for  me. 

Shakspeare.  No  small  privilege,  by  my  faith,  for  any  wo- 
man in  the  next  parish  to  thee,  Master  Silas  ! 

Sir  Silas.  There  again  !  out  comes  the  filthy  runlet  from 
the  quagmire  that  but  now  lay  so  quiet  with  all  its  own  in  it. 

Shakspeare.  Until  it  was  trodden  on  by  the  ass  that  could 
not  leap  over  it.  These,  I  think,  are  the  words  of  the  fable. 

Sir  Thomas.     They  are  so. 

Sir  Silas.     What  fable? 

Sir  Thomas.  Tush  !  don't  press  him  too  hard  ;  he  wants 
not  wit,  but  learning. 

Sir  Silas.  He  wants  a  rope's  end  ;  and  a  rope's  end  is  not 
enough  for  him,  unless  we  throw  in  the  other. 

Sir  Thomas.  Peradventure  he  may  be  an  instrument,  a 
potter's  clay,  a  type,  a  token.  I  have  seen  many  young  men, 
and  none  like  unto  him.  He  is  shallow,  but  clear ;  he  is 
simple,  but  ingenuous. 

Sir  Silas.  Drag  the  ford  again  then  !  In  my  mind  he  is  as 
deep  as  the  big  tankard ;  and  a  mouthful  of  rough  burrage  will 
be  the  beginning  and  end  of  it. 

Sir  Thomas.  No  fear  of  that.  Neither,  if  rightly  reported 
by  the  youngster,  is  there  so  much  doctrine  in  the  doctor  as  we 
expected.  He  doth  not  dwell  upon  the  main  :  he  is  worldly ; 
he  is  wise  in  his  generation ;  he  says  things  out  of  his  own 
head.  Silas,  that  can't  hold  !  We  want  props,  — fulcriims,  I 
think  you  called  'em  to  the  farmers  ;  or  was  it  stimulums  ? 

Sir  Silas.     Both  very  good  words. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  should  be  mightily  pleased  to  hear  thee  dis- 
pute with  that  great  don. 

Sir  Silas.  I  hate  disputations.  Saint  Paul  warns  us  against 
them.  If  one  wants  to  be  thirsty,  the .  tail  of  a  stockfish  is  as 
good  for  it  as  the  head  of  a  logician.  The  doctor  there  at 
Oxford  is  in  flesh  and  mettle ;  but  let  him  be  sleek  and  gin- 
gered as  he  may,  clap  me  in  St.  Mary's  pulpit,  cassock  me, 
lamb-skin  me,  give  me  pink  for  my  colors,  glove  me  to  the 
elbow,  heel-piece  me  half  an  ell  high,  cushion  me  before  and 
behind,  bring  me  a  mug  of  mild  ale  and  a  rasher  of  bacon,  only 
just  to  con  over  the  text  withal,  —  then  allow  me  fair  play,  and 
as  much  of  my  own  way  as  he  had,  and  the  Devil  take  the 
hindermost.  I  am  his  man  at  any  time. 


214  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  am  fain  to  believe  it.  Verily,  I  do  think, 
Silas,  thou  hast  as  much  stuff  in  thee  as  most  men.  Our 
beef  and  mutton  at  Charlecote  rear  other  than  babes  and 
sucklings.  I  like  words  taken,  like  thine,  from  black-letter 
books.  They  look  stiff  and  sterling,  and  as  though  a  man 
might  dig  about  'em  for  a  week,  and  never  loosen  the  lightest. 
Thou  hast  alway  at  hand  either  saint  or  devil,  as  occasion 
needeth,  according  to  the  quality  of  the  sinner,  and  they  never 
come  uncalled  for.  Moreover,  Master  Silas,  I  have  observed 
that  thy  hell-fire  is  generally  lighted  up  in  the  pulpit  about  the 
dog-days. 

—  Then  turned  the  worthy  knight  unto  the  youth,  saying, 
"  'Twere  well  for  thee,  William  Shakspeare,  if  the  learned  doc- 
tor had  kept  thee  longer  in  his  house,  and  had  shown  unto  thee 
tbe  danger  of  idleness,  which  hath  often  led  unto  deer-stealing 
and  poetry.  In  thee  we  already  know  the  one,  although  the 
distemper  hath  eaten  but  skin-deep  for  the  present ;  and  we 
have  the  testimony  of  two  burgesses  on  the  other.  The  pur- 
suit of  poetry,  as  likewise  of  game,  is  unforbidden  to  persons 
of  condition." 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  that  of  game  is  the  more  likely  to  keep 
them  in  it. 

Sir  Thomas.  It  is  the  more  knightly  of  the  two;  but 
poetry  hath  also  her  pursuers  among  us.  I  myself,  in  my 
youth,  had  some  experience  that  way ;  and  I  am  fain  to  blush 
at  the  reputation  I  obtained.  His  honor,  my  father,  took  me 
to  London  at  the  age  of  twenty ;  and  sparing  no  expense  in 
my  education,  gave  fifty  shillings  to  one  Monsieur  Dubois  to 
teach  me  fencing  and  poetry  in  twenty  lessons.  In  vacant 
hours  he  taught  us  also  the  laws  of  honor,  which  are  different 
from  ours. 

In  France  you  are  unpolite  unless  you  solicit  a  judge  or  his 
wife  to  favor  your  cause  ;  and  you  inevitably  lose  it.  In  France 
there  is  no  want  of  honor  where  there  is  no  want  of  courage ; 
you  may  lie,  but  you  must  not  hear  that  you  lie.  I  asked  him 
what  he  thought  then  of  lying,  and  he  replied,  — 

"  C'est  selon." 

"  And  suppose  you  should  overhear  the  whisper?  " 

"  Ah,  parbleu  !     Cela  m'irrite,  cela  me  pousse  au  bout." 

I  was  going  on  to  remark  that  a  real  man  of  honor  could  less 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  215 

bear  to  lie  than  to  hear  it ;  when  he  cried,  at  the  words  "  real 
man  of  honor,"  "  Le  voila,  Monsieur,  le  voila  !  "  and  gave  him- 
self such  a  blow  on  the  breast  as  convinced  me  the  French  are 
a  brave  people. 

He  told  us  that  nothing  but  his  honor  was  left  him,  but  that 
it  supplied  the  phce  of  all  he  had  lost.  It  was  discovered 
some  time  afterward  that  Monsieur  Dubois  had  been  guilty  of 
perjury,  had  been  a  spy,  and  had  lost  nothing  but  a  dozen  or 
two  of  tin  patty-pans,  hereditary  in  his  family,  his  father  hav- 
ing been  a  cook  on  his  own  account. 

William,  it  is  well  at  thy  time  of  life  that  thou  shouldst 
know  the  customs  of  far  countries,  particularly  if  it  should  be 
the  will  of  God  to  place  thee  in  a  company  of  players.  Of  all 
nations  in  the  world,  the  French  best  understand  the  stage. 
If  thou  shouldst  ever  write  for  it  (which  God  forbid  !),  copy 
them  very  carefully.  Murders  on  their  stage  are  quite  deco- 
rous and  cleanly.  Few  gentlemen  and  ladies  die  by  violence 
who  would  not  have  died  by  exhaustion.  For  they  rant  and 
rave  until  their  voice  fails  them,  one  after  another ;  and  those 
who  do  not  die  of  it,  die  consumptive.  They  cannot  bear  to 
see  cruelty ;  they  would  rather  see  any  image  than  their  own. 
These  are  not  my  observations,  but  were  made  by  Sir  Everard 
Starkeye,  who  likewise  did  remark  to  Monsieur  Dubois  that  cats, 
if  you  hold  them  up  to  the  looking-glass,  will  scratch  you  ter- 
ribly, and  that  the  same  fierce  animal,  as  if  proud  of  its  cleanly 
coat  and  velvety  paw,  doth  carefully  put  aside  what  other 
animals  of  more  estimation  take  no  trouble  to  conceal. 

"  Our  people,"  said  Sir  Everard,  "  must  see  upon  the  stage 
what  they  never  could  have  imagined ;  so  the  best  men 
in  the  world  would  earnestly  take  a  peep  of  hell  through  a 
chink,  whereas  the  worser  would  skulk  away." 

Do  not  thou  be  their  caterer,  William.  Avoid  the  writing  of 
comedies  and  tragedies.  To  make  people  laugh  is  uncivil,  and 
to  make  people  cry  is  unkind.  And  what,  after  all,  are  these 
comedies  and  these  tragedies  ?  They  are  what,  for  the  benefit 
of  all  future  generations,  I  have  myself  described  them,  — 

The  whimsies  of  wantons,  and  stories  of  dread 
That  make  the  stout-hearted  look  under  the  bed. 

Furthermore,  let  me  warn  thee  against  the  same  on  account 


2l6  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

of  the  vast  charges  thou  must  stand  at.  We  Englishmen  can- 
not find  it  in  our  hearts  to  murder  a  man  without  much  diffi- 
culty, hesitation,  and  delay.  We  have  little  or  no  invention 
for  pains  and  penalties  ;  it  is  only  our  acutest  lawyers  who  have 
wit  enough  to  frame  them.  Therefore  it  behooveth  your  tragedy 
man  to  provide  a  rich  assortment  of  them,  in  order  to  strike 
the  auditor  with  awe  and  wonder.  And  a  tragedy  man,  in  our 
country,  who  cannot  afford  a  fair  dozen  of  stabbed  males,  and 
a  trifle  under  that  mark  of  poisoned  females,  and  chains  enow 
to  moor  a  whole  navy  in  dock,  is  but  a  scurvy  fellow  at  the 
best.  Thou  wilt  find  trouble  in  purveying  these  necessaries ; 
and  then  must  come  the  gimcracks  for  the  second  course,  — 
gods,  goddesses,  fates,  furies,  battles,  marriages,  music,  and 
the  maypole.  Hast  thou  within  thee  wherewithal? 

"  Sir,"  replied  Billy,  with  great  modesty,  "  I  am  most  grate- 
ful for  these  ripe  fruits  of  your  experience.  To  admit  delight- 
ful visions  into  my  own  twilight  chamber  is  not  dangerous  nor 
forbidden.  Believe  me,  sir,  he  who  indulges  in  them  will  ab- 
stain from  injuring  his  neighbor ;  he  will  see  no  glory  in  peril, 
and  no  delight  in  strife.  The  world  shall  never  be  troubled 
by  any  battles  and  marriages  of  mine,  and  I  desire  no  other 
music  and  no  other  maypole  than  have  lightened  my  heart  at 
Stratford." 

Sir  Thomas,  finding  him  well- conditioned  and  manageable, 
proceeded  :  "  Although  I  have  admonished  thee  of  sundry  and 
insurmountable  impediments,  yet  more  are  lying  in  the  path- 
way. We  have  no  verse  for  tragedy.  One  in  his  hurry  hath 
dropped  rhyme,  and  walketh  like  unto  the  man  who  wanteth  the 
left-leg  stocking.  Others  can  give  us  rhyme  indeed,  but  can 
hold  no  longer  after  the  tenth  or  eleventh  syllable.  Now,  Sir 
Everard  Starkeye,  who  is  a  pretty  poet,  did  confess  to  Mon- 
sieur Dubois  the  potency  of  the  French  tragic  verse,  which  thou 
never  canst  hope  to  bring  over. 

" '  I  wonder,  Monsieur  Dubois,'  said  Sir  Everard,  '  that  your 
countrymen  should  have  thought  it  necessary  to  transport  their 
heavy  artillery  into  Italy.  No  Italian  could  stand  a  volley  of 
your  heroic  verses  from  the  best  and  biggest  pieces.  With, 
these  brought  into  action,  you  never  could  have  lost  the  battle 
of  Pavia.' 

"  Now,  my  friend  Sir  Everard  is  not  quite  so  good  a  histo- 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  21  / 

rian  as  he  is  a  poet ;  and  Monsieur  Dubois  took  advantage  of 
him. 

"  *  Pardon,  Monsieur  Sir  Everard,'  said  Monsieur  Dubois, 
smiling  at  my  friend's  slip,  'we  did  not  lose  the  battle  of 
Pavia.  We  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  our  king,  who  delivered 
himself  up,  as  our  kings  always  do,  for  the  good  and  glory  of 
his  country.' 

"  '  How  was  this  ?  '  said  Sir  Everard,  in  surprise. 

" '  I  will  tell  you,  Monsieur  Sir  Everard,'  said  Monsieur 
Dubois.  '  I  had  it  from  my  own  father,  who  fought  in  the 
battle,  and  told  my  mother,  word  for  word.  The  king,  seeing 
his  household  troops,  being  only  one  thousand  strong,  sur- 
rounded by  twelve  regiments,  the  best  Spanish  troops,  amount- 
ing to  eighteen  thousand  four  hundred  and  forty-two,  although 
he  doubted  not  of  victory,  yet  thought  he  might  lose  many 
brave  men  before  the  close  of  the  day,  and  rode  up  instantly 
to  King  Charles,  and  said,  "  My  brother,  I  am  loath  to  lose  so 
many  of  those  brave  men  yonder.  Whistle  off  youi  Spanish 
pointers,  and  I  agree  to  ride  home  with  you."  And  so  he 
did.  But  what  did  King  Charles?  Abusing  French  loyalty, 
he  made  our  Francis  his  prisoner  —  would  you  believe  it  ?  — 
and  treated  him  worse  than  ever  badger  was  treated  at  the 
bottom  of  any  paltry  stable- yard,  putting  upon  his  table  beer 
and  Rhenish  wine  and  wild  boar.' 

"  I  have  digressed  with  thee,  young  man,"  continued  the 
knight,  much  to  the  improvement  of  my  knowledge,  I  do  rev- 
erentially confess,  as  it  was  of  the  lad's.  "  We  will  now,"  said 
he,  "  endeavor  our  best  to  sober  thee,  finding  that  Dr.  Glaston 
hath  omitted  it." 

"  Not  entirely  omitted  it,"  said  William,  gratefully ;  "  he  did, 
after  dinner,  all  that  could  be  done  at  such  a  time  toward  it. 
The  doctor  could,  however,  speak  only  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  and  certainly  what  he  said  of  them  gave  me  but  little 
encouragement." 

Sir  Thomas.     What  said  he? 

Shakspeare.  He  said,  "  The  Greeks  conveyed  all  their  wis- 
dom into  their  theatre  ;  their  stages  were  churches  and  parlia- 
ment-houses, —  but  what  was  false  prevailed  over  what  was  true. 
They  had  their  own  wisdom,  —  the  wisdom  of  the  foolish. 
Who  is  Sophocles,  if  compared  to  Dr.  Hammersley  of  Oriel ; 


2l8  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

or  Euripides,  if  compared  to  Dr.  Prichard  of  Jesus  ?  Without 
the  gospel,  light  is  darkness ;  and  with  it,  children  are  giants. 

"  William,  I  need  not  expatiate  on  Greek  with  thee,  since 
thou  knowest  it  not,  but  some  crumbs  of  Latin  are  picked  up 
by  the  callowest  beaks.  The  Romans  had,  as  thou  findest, 
and  have  still,  more  taste  for  murder  than  morality,  and  as 
they  could  not  find  heroes  among  them,  looked  for  gladiators. 
Their  only  very  high  poet  employed  his  elevation  and  strength 
to  dethrone  and  debase  the  Deity.  They  had  several  others, 
who  polished  their  language  and  pitched  their  instruments  with 
admirable  skill ;  several  who  glued  over  their  thin  and  flimsy 
gaberdines  many  bright  feathers  from  the  wide-spread  downs 
of  Ionia  and  the  richly  cultivated  rocks  of  Attica. 

"  Some  of  them  have  spoken  from  inspiration,  for  thou  art 
not  to  suppose  that  from  the  heathen  were  withheld  all  the 
manifestations  of  the  Lord.  We  do  agree  at  Oxford  that  the 
Pollio  of  Virgil  is  our  Saviour.  True,  it  is  the  dullest  and 
poorest  poem  that  a  nation  not  very  poetical  hath  bequeathed 
unto  us ;  and  even  the  versification,  in  which  this  master  ex- 
celled, is  wanting  in  fluency  and  sweetness.  I  can  only  account 
for  it  from  the  weight  of  the  subject.  Two  verses,  which  are 
fairly  worth  two  hundred  such  poems,  are  from  another  pagan ; 
he  was  forced  to  sigh  for  the  Church  without  knowing  her. 
He  saith :  — 

'  May  I  gaze  upon  thee  when  my  latest  hour  is  come  ! 
May  I  hold  thy  hand  when  mine  faileth  me ! ' 

This,  if  adumbrating  the  Church,  is  the  most  beautiful  thought 
that  ever  issued  from  the  heart  of  man ;  but  if  addressed  to  a 
wanton,  as  some  do  opine,  is  filth  from  the  sink,  nauseating 
and  insufferable.  William,  that  which  moveth  the  heart  most 
is  the  best  poetry ;  it  comes  nearest  unto  God,  the  source  of 
all  power." 

Sir  Thomas.  Yea,  and  he  appeareth  unto  me  to  know 
more  of  poetry  than  of  divinity.  Those  ancients  have  little 
flesh  upon  the  body  poetical,  and  lack  the  savor  that  sufficeth. 
The  Song  of  Solomon  drowns  all  their  voices ;  they  seem  but 
whistlers  and  guitar-players  compared  to  a  full-cheeked  trum- 
peter, —  they  standing  under  the  eaves  in  some  dark  lane,  he 
upon  a  well-caparisoned  stallion,  tossing  his  mane  and  all  his 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  2IQ 

ribbons  to  the  sun.  I  doubt  the  doctor  spake  too  fondly  of  the 
Greeks ;  they  were  giddy  creatures,  William.  I  am  loath  to 
be  hard  on  them,  but  they  please  me  not.  There  are  those 
now  living  who  could  make  them  bite  their  nails  to  the  quick, 
and  turn  green  as  grass  with  envy. 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  one  of  those  Greeks,  methinks,  thrown 
into  the  pickle-pot,  would  be  a  treasure  to  the  house-wife's 
young  gherkins. 

Sir  Thomas.  Simpleton  !  simpleton  !  but  thou  valuest  them 
justly.  Now,  attend.  If  ever  thou  shouldst  hear,  at  Oxford  or 
London,  the  verses  I  am  about  to  repeat,  prythee  do  not  com- 
municate them  to  that  fiery  spirit  Matt  Atterend.  It  might  not 
be  the  battle  of  two  hundreds,  but  two  counties,  —  a  sort  of 
York  and  Lancaster  war,  whereof  I  would  wash  my  hands. 
Listen  ! 

—  And  now  did  Sir  Thomas  clear  his  voice,  always  high  and 
sonorous,  and  did  repeat  from  the  stores  of  his  memory  these 
rich  and  proud  verses  :  — 

"  Chloe,  mean  men  must  ever  make  mean  loves  ; 
They  deal  in  dog-roses,  but  I  in  cloves. 
They  are  just  scorched  enough  to  blow  their  fingers, 
I  am  a  phoenix  downright  burnt  to  cinders." 

At  which  noble  conceits,  so  far  above  what  poor  Bill  had 
ever  imagined,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  exclaimed, 
"The  world  itself  must  be  reduced  to  that  condition  before 
such  glorious  verses  die  !  Chloe  and  Clove  !  Why  sir,  Chloe 
wants  but  a  v  toward  the  tail  to  become  the  very  thing  ! 
Never  tell  me  that  such  matters  can  come  about  of  themselves. 
And  how  truly  is  it  said  that  we  mean  men  deal  in  dog-roses  ! 
Sir,  if  it  were  permitted  me  to  swear  on  that  holy  Bible,  I 
would  swear  I  never  until  this  day  heard  that  dog-roses  were 
our  provender ;  and  yet  did  I,  no  longer  ago  than  last  sum- 
mer, write,  not  indeed  upon  a  dog-rose,  but  upon  a  sweet- 
brier,  what  would  only  serve  to  rinse  the  mouth  withal  after 
the  clove." 

Sir  Thomas.  Repeat  the  same,  youth  !  We  may  haply 
give  thee  our  counsel  thereupon. 

—  Willy  took    heart,  and    lowering   his   voice,  which    hath 
much  natural  mellowness,  repeated  these  from  memory  :  — 


22O  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  My  brier  that  smelledst  sweet 
When  gentle  spring's  first  heat 

Ran  through  thy  quiet  veins ; 
Thou  that  wouldst  injure  none, 
But  wouldst  be  left  alone,  — 
Alone  thou  leavest  me,  and  nought  of  thine  remains. 

"  What !  hath  no  poet's  lyre 
O'er  thee,  sweet-breathing  brier, 

Hung  fondly,  ill  or  well? 
And  yet  methinks  with  thee 
A  poet's  sympathy, 
Whether  in  weal  or  woe,  in  life  or  death,  might  dwell. 

"  Hard  usage  both  must  bear, 
Few  hands  your  youth  will  rear, 

Few  bosoms  cherish  you. 
Your  tender  prime  must  bleed 
Ere  you  are  sweet ;  but  freed 
From  life,  you  then  are  prized.     Thus  prized  are  poets  too." 

Sir  Thomas  said,  with  kind  encouragement,  "  He  who  be- 
ginneth  so  discreetly  with  a  dog-rose,  may  hope  to  encompass 
a  damask-rose  ere  he  die." 

Willy  did  now  breathe  freely.  The  commendation  of  a 
knight  and  magistrate  worked  powerfully  within  him ;  and  Sir 
Thomas  said  furthermore,  "These  short  matters  do  not  suit 
me.  Thou  mightest  have  added  some  moral  about  life  and 
beauty ;  poets  never  handle  roses  without  one.  But  thou  art 
young,  and  mayest  get  into  the  train." 

Willy  made  the  best  excuse  he  could,  —  and  no  bad  one  it 
was,  the  knight  acknowledged ;  namely,  that  the  sweet-brier 
was  not  really  dead,  although  left  for  dead. 

"  Then,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  "  as  life  and  beauty  would  not 
serve  thy  turn,  thou  mightest  have  had  full  enjoyment  of  the 
beggar,  the  wayside,  the  thieves,  and  the  good  Samaritan ; 
enough  to  tapestry  the  bridal  chamber  of  an  empress." 

William  bowed  respectfully,  and  sighed. 

"  Ha  !  thou  hast  lost  them,  sure  enough,  and  it  may  not  be 
quite  so  fair  to  smile  at  thy  quandary,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas. 

"I  did  my  best  the  first  time,"  said  Willy,  "and  fell  short 
the  second." 

"  That  indeed  thou  must  have  done,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
"  It  is  a  grievous  disappointment,  in  the  midst  of  our  lamenta- 
tions for  the  dead,  to  find  ourselves  balked.  I  am  curious  to 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  221 

see  how  thou  couldst  help  thyself.     Don't  be  abashed  •  I  am 
ready  for  even  worse  than  the  last." 
Bill  hesitated,  but  obeyed  :  — 

"And  art  thou  yet  alive  ? 
And  shall  the  happy  hive 

Send  out  her  youth  to  cull 
Thy  sweets  of  leaf  and  flower, 
And  spend  the  sunny  hour 
With  thee,  and  thy  faint  heart  with  murmuring  music  lull  ? 

"Tell  me  what  tender  care, 
Tell  me  what  pious  prayer, 

Bade  thee  arise  and  live. 
The  fondest-favored  bee 
Shall  whisper  nought  to  thee 
More  loving  than  the  song  my  grateful  muse  shall  give." 

Sir  Thomas  looked  somewhat  less  pleased  at  the  conclusion 
of  these  verses  than  at  the  conclusion  of  the  former ;  and  said 
gravely,  "  Young  man,  methinks  it  is  betimes  that  thou  talkest 
of  having  a  muse  to  thyself,  or  even  in  common  with  others. 
It  is  only  great  poets  who  have  muses,  —  I  mean  to  say  who 
have  the  right  to  talk  in  that  fashion.  The  French,  I  hear, 
Phoebus  it  and  Muse-me  it  right  and  left ;  and  boggle  not  to 
throw  all  Nine,  together  with  mother  and  master,  into  the  com- 
pass of  a  dozen  lines  or  thereabout.  And  your  Italian  can 
hardly  do  without  'em  in  the  multiplication-table.  We  English- 
'  men  do  let  them  in  quietly,  shut  the  door,  and  say  nothing  of 
what  passes.  I  have  read  a  whole  book  of  comedies,  and  ne'er 
a  muse  to  help  the  lamest." 

Shakspeare.  Wonderful  forbearance  !  I  marvel  how  the 
poet  could  get  through. 

Sir  Thomas.  By  God's  help.  And  I  think  we  did  as  well 
without  'em,  for  it  must  be  an  unabashable  man  that  ever  shook 
his  sides  in  their  company.  They  lay  heavy  restraint  both  upon 
laughing  and  crying.  In  the  great  master  Virgil  of  Rome  they 
tell  me  they  come  in  to  count  the  ships,  and  having  cast  up 
the  sum  total,  and  proved  it,  make  off  again.  Sure  token  of 
two  things :  first,  that  he  held  'em  dog  cheap  ;  secondly,  that 
he  had  made  but  little  progress  (for  a  Lombard  born)  in  book- 
keeping at  double  entry.  He,  and  every  other  great  genius,  be- 
gan with  small  subject-matters,  —  gnats  and  the  like.  I  myself, 


222  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

similar  unto  him,  wrote  upon  fruit.  I  would  give  thee  some 
copies  for  thy  copying,  if  I  thought  thou  wouldst  use  them  tem- 
perately, and  not  render  them  common,  as  hath  befallen  the 
poetry  of  some  among  the  brightest  geniuses.  I  could  show 
thee  how  to  say  new  things,  and  how  to  time  the  same.  Before 
my  day,  nearly  all  the  flowers  and  fruits  had  been  gathered  by 
poets,  old  and  young,  from  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  to  the  hyssop 
on  the  wall :  roses  went  up  to  Solomon,  apples  to  Adam, 
and  so  forth.  Willy,  my  brave  lad,  I  was  the  first  that  ever 
handled  a  quince,  I  '11  be  sworn.  Hearken  ! 

Chloe  !   I  would  not  have  thee  wince 

That  I  unto  thee  send  a  quince. 

I  would  not  have  thee  say  unto  't 

"  Begone  1"  and  trample  't  under  foot, 

For,  trust  me,  't  is  no  fulsome  fruit. 

It  came  not  out  of  mine  own  garden, 

But  all  the  way  from  Henly  in  Arden, 

Of  an  uncommon  fine  old  tree 

Belonging  to  John  Asbury. 

And  if  that  of  it  thou  shalt  eat 

'T  will  make  thy  breath  e'en  yet  more  sweet ; 

As  a  translation  here  doth  show, 

"  On  fruit-trees  by  Jean  Mirabeau." 

The  frontispiece  is  printed  so 

But  eat  it  with  some  wine  and  cake, 

Or  it  may  give  the  belly-ache.1 

This  doth  my  worthy  clerk  indite, 

I  sign, 

Sir  THOMAS  LUCY,  Knight. 

Now,  Willy,  there  is  not  one  poet  or  lover  in  twenty  who 
careth  for  consequences.  Many  hint  to  the  lady  what  to  do  ; 
few  what  not  to  do,  —  although  it  would  oftentimes,  as  in  this 
case,  go  to  one's  heart  to  see  the  upshot. 

"  Ah,  sir  !  "  said  Bill,  in  all  humility,  "  I  would  make  bold  to 
put  the  parings  of  that  quince  under  my  pillow  for  sweet  dreams 
and  insights,  if  Dr.  Glaston  had  given  me  encouragement  to 
continue  the  pursuit  of  poetry.  Of  a  surety  it  would  bless  me 
with  a  bedful  of  churches  and  crucifixions,  duly  adumbrated." 

Whereat  Sir  Thomas,  shaking  his  head,  did  inform  him,  "  It 

1  "  Belly-ache,"  a  disorder  once  not  uncommon  in  England.  Even  the 
name  is  now  almost  forgotten  ;  yet  the  elder  of  us  may  remember  at  least 
the  report  of  it,  and  some  perhaps  even  the  complaint  itself,  in  our  school- 
days. It  usually  broke  out  about  the  cherry  season ;  and,  in  some  cases, 
made  its  appearance  again  at  the  first  nutting. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  223 

was  in  the  golden  age  of  the  world,  as  pagans  call  it,  that 
poets  of  condition  sent  fruits  and  flowers  to  their  beloved,  with 
posies  fairly  penned.  We  in  our  days  have  done  the  like.  But 
manners  of  late  are  much  corrupted  on  the  one  side,  if  not  on 
both.  Willy,  it  hath  been  whispered  that  there  be  those  who 
would  rather  have  a  piece  of  brocade  or  velvet  for  a  stomacher 
than  the  touchingest  copy  of  verses,  with  a  bleeding  heart  at 
the  bottom." 

Shakspeare.     Incredible ! 

Sir  Thomas.     'T  is  even  so  ! 

Shakspeare.  They  must  surely  be  rotten  fragments  of  the 
world  before  the  flood,  saved  out  of  it  by  the  Devil. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  am  not  of  that  mind.  Their  eyes,  mayhap, 
fell  upon  some  of  the  bravery  cast  ashore  from  the  Spanish 
Armada.  In  ancienter  days,  a  few  pages  of  good  poetry  out- 
valued a  whole  ell  of  the  finest  Genoa. 

Shakspeare.     When  will  such  days  return  ? 

Sir  Thomas.  It  is  only  within  these  few  years  that  corrup- 
tion and  avarice  have  made  such  ghastly  strides.  They  always 
did  exist,  but  were  gentler.  My  youth  is  waning,  and  has 
been  nigh  upon  these  seven  years,  I  being  now  in  my  forty- 
eighth. 

Shakspeare.  I  have  understood  that  the  god  of  poetry  is 
in  the  enjoyment  of  eternal  youth ;  I  was  ignorant  that  his 
sons  were. 

Sir  Thomas.  No,  child ;  we  are  hale  and  comely,  but  must 
go  the  way  of  all  flesh. 

Shakspeare.     Must  it,  can  it  be? 

Sir  Thomas.  Time  was,  my  smallest  gifts  were  acceptable, 
as  thus  recorded  :  — 

From  my  fair  hand,  oh  will  ye,  will  ye 
Deign  humbly  to  accept  a  gilly- 

Flower  for  thy  bosom,  sugared  maid  ? 

Scarce  had  I  said  it,  ere  she  took  it, 
And  in  a  twinkling,  faith  !  had  stuck  it 

Where  e'en  proud  knighthood  might  have  laid. 

—  William  was  now  quite  unable  to  contain  himself,  and 
seemed  utterly  to  have  forgotten  the  grievous  charge  against 
him,  to  such  a  pitch  did  his  joy  o'erleap  his  jeopardy. 

Master  Silas,  in  the  mean  time  was  much  disquieted ;  and 


224  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

first  did  he  strip  away  all  the  white  feather  from  every  pen  in 
the  ink-pot,  and  then  did  he  mend  them,  one  and  all,  and  then 
did  he  slit  them  with  his  thumb-nail,  and  then  did  he  pare  and 
slash  away  at  them  again,  and  then  did  he  cut  off  the  tops ; 
until  at  last  he  left  upon  them  neither  nib  nor  plume,  nor 
enough  of  the  middle  to  serve  as  quill  to  a  virginal.  It  went 
to  my  heart  to  see  such  a  power  of  pens  so  wasted,  —  there 
could  not  be  fewer  than  five.  Sir  Thomas  was  less  wary  than 
usual,  being  overjoyed ;  for  great  poets  do  mightily  affect  to 
have  little  poets  under  them,  and  little  poets  do  forget  them- 
selves in  great  company, — as  fiddlers  do,  who  hail-fellow-well- 
met  even  with  Lords. 

Sir  Thomas  did  not  interrupt  our  Bill's  wild  gladness.  I 
never  thought  so  worshipful  a  personage  could  bear  so  much. 
At  last  he  said  unto  the  lad  :  "  I  do  bethink  me  if  thou  hearest 
much  more  of  my  poetry  and  the  success  attendant  thereon, 
good  Dr.  Glaston  would  tear  thy  skirt  off  ere  he  could  drag 
thee  back  from  the  occupation." 

Shakspeare.  I  fear  me,  for  once,  all  his  wisdom  would  sluice 
out  in  vain. 

Sir  Thomas.  It  was  reported  to  me  that  when  our  virgin 
Queen's  Highness  (her  Dear  Dread's1  ear  not  being  then 
poisoned)  heard  these  verses,  she  said  before  her  courtiers,  to 
the  sore  travail  of  some  and  heart's  content  of  others,  "We 
need  not  envy  our  young  cousin  James  of  Scotland  his  ass's 
bite  of  a  thistle,  having  such  flowers  as  these  gilliflowers  on  the 
chimney-stacks  of  Charlecote."  I  could  have  told  her  High- 
ness that  all  this  poetry,  from  beginning  to  end,  was  real 
matter  of  fact,  well  and  truly  spoken  by  mine  own  self.  I  had 
only  to  harness  the  rhymes  thereunto,  at  my  leisure. 

Shakspeare.  None  could  ever  doubt  it.  Greeks  and  Tro- 
jans may  fight  for  the  quince ;  neither  shall  have  it  — 

While  a  Warwickshire  lad 

Is  on  earth  to  be  had, 

With  a  wand  to  wag 

On  a  trusty  nag. 

He  shall  keep  the  lists 

With  cudgel  or  fists; 

And  black  shall  be  whose  eye 

Looks  evil  on  Lucy. 

1  Sir  Thomas  borrowed  this  expression  from  Spenser. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  22$ 

Sir  Thomas.  Nay,  nay,  nay  !  do  not  trespass  too  soon  up- 
on heroics.  Thou  seest  thou  canst  not  hold  thy  wind  beyond 
eight  lines.  What  wouldst  thou  do  under  the  heavy  mettle 
that  should  have  wrought  such  wonders  at  Pavia,  if  thou  findest 
these  petards  so  troublesome  in  discharging?  Surely  the  good 
doctor,  had  he  entered  at  large  on  the  subject,  would  have  been 
very  particular  in  urging  this  expostulation. 

Shakspeare.  Sir,  to  my  mortification  I  must  confess  that  I 
took  to  myself  the  counsel  he  was  giving  to  another,  —  a  young 
gentleman  who  from  his  pale  face,  his  abstinence  at  table,  his 
cough,  his  taciturnity,  and  his  gentleness,  seemed  already  more 
than  half  poet.  To  him  did  Dr.  Glaston  urge,  with  all  his  zeal 
and  judgment,  many  arguments  against  the  vocation ;  telling 
him  that  even  in  college  he  had  few  applauders,  being  the  first 
and  not  the  second  or  third,  who  always  are  more  fortunate ; 
reminding  him  that  he  must  solicit  and  obtain  much  interest 
with  men  of  rank  and  quality  before  he  could  expect  their 
favor,  and  that  without  it  the  vein  chilled,  the  nerve  relaxed, 
and  the  poet  was  left  at  next  door  to  the  bellman.  "  In  the 
coldness  of  the  world,"  said  he,  "  in  the  absence  of  ready 
friends  and  adherents  to  light  thee  upstairs  to  the  richly  tapes- 
tried chamber  of  the  Muses,  thy  spirits  will  abandon  thee,  thy 
heart  will  sicken  and  swell  within  thee  ;  overladen,  thou  wilt 
make,  O  Ethelbert !  a  slow  and  painful  progress,  and  ere  the 
door  open,  sink.  Praise  giveth  weight  unto  the  wanting,  and 
happiness  giveth  elasticity  unto  the  heavy.  As  the  mightier 
streams  of  the  unexplored  world,  America,  run  languidly  in 
the  night,1  and  await  the  sun  on  high  to  contend  with  him  in 
strength  and  grandeur,  so  doth  genius  halt  and  pause  in  the 
thraldom  of  outspread  darkness,  and  move  onward  with  all  his 
vigor  then  only  when  creative  light  and  jubilant  warmth  sur- 
round him." 

Ethelbert  coughed  faintly ;  a  tinge  of  red  the  size  of  a  rose- 
bud colored  the  middle  of  his  cheek,  and  yet  he  seemed  not 
to  be  pained  by  the  reproof.  He  looked  fondly  and  affection- 
ately at  his  teacher,  who  thus  proceeded  :  — 

"  My  dear  youth,  do  not  carry  the  stone  of  Sisyphus  on  thy 
shoulder  to  pave  the  way  to  disappointment.  If  thou  writest 
but  indifferent  poetry,  none  will  envy  thee  and  some  will  praise 

1  Humboldt  notices  this. 


226  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

thee  ;  but  Nature  in  her  malignity  hath  denied  unto  thee  a  ca- 
pacity for  the  enjoyment  of  such  praise.  In  this  she  hath  been 
kinder  to  most  others  than  to  thee  :  we  know  wherein  she  hath 
been  kinder  to  thee  than  to  most  others.  If  thou  writest  good 
poetry,  many  will  call  it  flat,  many  will  call  it  obscure,  many 
will  call  it  inharmonious,  —  and  some  of  these  will  speak  as 
they  think ;  for  as  in  giving  a  feast  to  great  numbers  it  is  easier 
to  possess  the  wine  than  to  procure  the  cups,  so  happens  it  in 
poetry,  —  thou  hast  the  beverage  of  thy  own  growth,  but  canst 
not  find  the  recipients.  What  is  simple  and  elegant  to  thee 
and  me,  to  many  an  honest  man  is  flat  and  sterile ;  what  to  us 
is  an  innocently  sly  allusion,  to  as  worthy  a  one  as  either  of  us 
is  dull  obscurity ;  and  that  moreover  which  swims  upon  our 
brain,  and  which  throbs  against  our  temples,  and  which  we  de- 
light in  sounding  to  ourselves  when  the  voice  has  done  with 
it,  touches  their  ear,  and  awakens  no  harmony  in  any  cell  of 
it.  Rivals  will  run  up  to  thee  and  call  thee  a  plagiary ;  and 
rather  than  that  proof  should  be  wanting,  similar  words  to 
some  of  thine  will  be  thrown  in  thy  teeth  out  of  Leviticus  and 
Deuteronomy. 

"  Do  you  desire  calm  studies,  do  you  desire  high  thoughts,  — 
penetrate  into  theology.  What  is  nobler  than  to  dissect  and 
discern  the  opinions  of  the  gravest  men  upon  the  subtlest 
matters?  And  what  glorious  victories  are  those  over  infidelity 
and  scepticism?  How  much  loftier,  how  much  more  lasting 
in  their  effects,  than  such  as  ye  are  invited  unto  by  what  this 
ingenious  youth  hath  contemptuously  and  truly  called 

'  The  swaggering  drum,  and  trumpet  hoarse  with  rage.' 

And  what  a  delightful  and  edifying  sight  it  is  to  see  hundreds 
of  the  most  able  doctors,  ill  stripped  for  the  combat,  each 
closing  with  his  antagonist,  and  tugging  and  tearing,  tooth  and 
nail,  to  lay  down  and  establish  truths  which  have  been  floating 
in  the  air  for  ages,  and  which  the  lower  order  of  mortals  are 
forbidden  to  see,  and  commanded  to  embrace.  And  then  the 
shouts  of  victory  !  and  then  the  crowns  of  amaranth  held  over 
their  heads  by  the  applauding  angels  !  Besides,  these  combats 
have  other  great  and  distinct  advantages.  Whereas  in  the 
carnal,  the  longer  ye  contend  the  more  blows  do  ye  receive,  in 
these  against  Satan,  the  more  fiercely  and  pertinaciously  ye  drive 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE.  22? 

at  him  the  slacker  do  ye  find  him ;  every  good  hit  makes  him 
redden  and  rave  with  anger,  but  diminishes  its  effect. 

"  My  dear  friends,  who  would  not  enter  a  service  in  which  he 
may  give  blows  to  his  mortal  enemy,  and  receive  none ;  and  in 
which  not  only  the  eternal  gain  is  incalculable,  but  also  the 
temporal  at  four-and-twenty  may  be  far  above  the  emolument 
of  generals,  who  before  the  priest  was  born  had  bled  profusely 
for  their  country,  established  her  security,  brightened  her  glory, 
and  augmented  her  dominions?" 

—  At  this  pause  did  Sir  Thomas  turn  unto  Sir  Silas,  and  asked, 
"  What  sayest  thou,  Silas?  " 

Whereupon  did  Sir  Silas  make  answer  :  "  I  say  it  is  so,  and 
was  so,  and  should  be  so,  and  shall  be  so.  If  the  queen's 
brother  had  not  sopped  the  priests  and  bishops  out  of  the 
Catholic  cup,  they  could  have  held  the  Catholic  cup  in  their 
own  hands,  instead  of  yielding  it  into  his.  They  earned  their 
money :  if  they  sold  their  consciences  for  it,  the  business  is 
theirs,  not  ours.  I  call  this  facing  the  Devil  with  a  vengeance. 
We  have  their  coats,  no  matter  who  made  'em ;  we  have  'em, 
I  say,  and  we  will  wear  'em ;  and  not  a  button,  tag,  or  tassel, 
shall  any  man  tear  away." 

Sir  Thomas  then  turned  to  Willy,  and  requested  him  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  doctor's  discourse,  who  thereupon  continued : 

"  *  Within  your  own  recollection,  how  many  good,  quiet,  in- 
offensive men,  unendowed  with  any  extraordinary  abilities,  have 
been  enabled,  by  means  of  divinity,  to  enjoy  a  long  life  in  tran- 
quillity and  affluence  ? ' 

"Whereupon  did  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  smile,  and 
on  small  encouragement  from  Dr.  Glaston  to  enounce  the 
cause  thereof,  he  repeated  these  verses,  which  he  gave  after- 
ward unto  me  :  — 

"  '  In  the  names  on  our  books 

Was  standing  Tom  Flooke's, 
Who  took  in  due  time  his  degrees  ; 

Which  when  he  had  taken, 

Like  Ascham  or  Bacon, 
By  night  he  could  snore,  and  by  day  he  could  sneeze. 

"  '  Calm,  pithy,  pragmatical,1 
Tom  Flooke  he  could  at  a  call 


i  < 


'  Pragmatical  "  here  means  only  "  precise." 


228  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Rise  up  like  a  hound  from  his  sleep ; 

And  if  many  a  quarto 

He  gave  not  his  heart  to, 
If  pellucid  in  lore,  in  his  cups  he  was  deep. 

" '  He  never  did  harm, 

And  his  heart  might  be  warm, 
For  his  doublet  most  certainly  was  so  : 

And  now  has  Tom  Flooke 

A  quieter  nook 
Than  ever  had  Spenser  or  Tasso. 

"'  He  lives  in  his  house 

As  still  as  a  mouse 
Until  he  has  eaten  his  dinner  ; 

But  then  doth  his  nose 

Outroar  all  the  woes 
That  encompass  the  death  of  a  sinner. 

"  '  And  there  oft  has  been  seen 

No  less  than  a  dean 
To  tarry  a  week  in  the  parish, 

In  October  and  March, 

When  deans  are  less  starch, 
And  days  are  less  gleamy  and  garish. 

"  '  That  Sunday  Tom's  eyes 

Looked  alway  more  wise, 
He  repeated  more  often  his  text ; 

Two  leaves  stuck  together 

(The  fault  of  the  weather), 
And  —  the  rest  ye  shall  hear  in  my  next. 

"  '  At  mess  he  lost  quite 

His  small  appetite, 
By  losing  his  friend  the  good  dean  : 

The  cook's  sight  must  fail  her  ! 

The  eggs  sure  are  staler  ! 
The  beef  too  !     Why,  what  can  it  mean  ? 

"  *  He  turned  off  the  butcher ; 

To  the  cook,  could  he  clutch  her, 
What  his  choler  had  done  there's  no  saying  — 

'T  is  verily  said 

He  smote  low  the  cock's  head, 
And  took  other  pullets  for  laying.'  " 

"On  this  being  concluded,  Dr.  Glaston  said  he  shrewdly 
suspected  an  indigestion  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Thomas  Flooke, 
caused  by  sitting  up  late  and  studying  hard  with  Mr.  Dean; 
and  he  protested  that  theology  itself  should  not  carry  us  into 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  22Q 

the  rawness  of  the  morning  air,  particularly  in  such  critical 
months  as  March  and  October,  in  one  of  which  the  sap  rises, 
in  the  other  sinks,  and  there  are  many  stars  very  sinister." 

—  Sir  Thomas  shook  his  head,  and  declared  he  would  not  be 
uncharitable  to  rector  or  dean  or  doctor,  but  that  certain  sur- 
mises swam  uppermost.  He  then  winked  at  Master  Silas,  who 
said  incontinently,  — 

"  You  have  it,  Sir  Thomas  !  The  blind  buzzards,  with  their 
stars  and  saps  !  " 

"Well,  but  Silas,  you  yourself  have  told  us  over  and  over 
again,  in  church,  that  there  are  arcana" 

"  So  there  are  ;  I  uphold  it !  "  replied  Master  Silas  ;  "  but  a 
fig  for  the  greater  part,  and  a  fig-leaf  for  the  rest !  As  for 
these  signs,  they  are  as  plain  as  any  page  in  the  Revelation." 

Sir  Thomas,  after  short  pondering,  said  scoffingly :  "  In  re- 
gard to  the  rawness  of  the  air  having  any  effect  whatsoever  on 
those  who  discourse  orthodoxically  on  theology,  it  is  quite  as 
absurd  as  to  imagine  that  a  man  ever  caught  cold  in  a  Protes- 
tant church.  I  am  rather  of  opinion  that  it  was  a  judgment 
on  the  rector  for  his  evil-mindedness  toward  the  cook,  the 
Lord  foreknowing  that  he  was  about  to  be  wilful  and  vengeful 
in  that  quarter.  It  was  however  more  advisedly  that  he  took 
other  pullets,  on  his  own  view  of  the  case,  although  it  might  be 
that  the  same  pullets  would  suit  him  again  as  well  as  ever 
when  his  appetite  should  return ;  for  it  doth  not  appear  that 
they  were  loath  to  lay,  but  laid  somewhat  unsatisfactorily. 

"  Now,  youth,"  continued  his  worship,  "  if  in  our  clemency 
we  should  spare  thy  life,  study  this  higher  elegiacal  strain 
which  thou  hast  carried  with  thee  from  Oxford ;  it  containeth, 
over  and  above  an  unusual  store  of  biography,  much  sound 
moral  doctrine  for  those  who  are  heedful  in  the  weighing  of  it. 
And  what  can  be  more  affecting  than  — 

'At  mess  he  lost  quite 
His  small  appetite, 
By  losing  his  friend  the  good  dean' ? 

And  what  an  insight  into  character  !  Store  it  up,  store  it  up  ! 
Small  appetite,  particular ;  good  dean,  generic." 

Hereupon  did  Master  Silas  jerk  me  with  his  indicative  joint, 
the  elbow  to  wit,  and  did  say  in  my  ear :  "  He  means  deanery. 


23O  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Give  me  one  of  those  bones  so  full  of  marrow,  and  let  my  lord 
bishop  have  all  the  meat  over  it  and  welcome.  If  a  dean  is 
not  on  his  stilts,  he  is  not  on  his  stumps ;  he  stands  on  his  own 
ground,  —  he  is  a  noli-me-tangeretarian" 

"What  art  thou  saying  of  those  sectaries,  good  Master 
Silas?  "  quoth  Sir  Thomas,  not  hearing  him  distinctly. 

"  I  was  talking  of  the  dean,"  replied  Master  Silas.  "  He 
was  the  very  dean  who  wrote  and  sang  that  song  called  the 
'  Two  Jacks.' " 

"Hast  it?"  asked  he. 

Master  Silas  shook  his  head,  and  trying  in  vain  to  recollect 
it,  said  at  last,  "After  dinner  it  sometimes  pops  out  of  a 
filbert-shell  in  a  crack ;  and  I  have  known  it  float  on  the  first 
glass  of  Herefordshire  cider.  It  also  hath  some  affinity  with 
very  stiff  and  old  bottled  beer ;  but  in  a  morning  it  seemeth 
unto  me  like  a  remnant  of  over-night." 

"Our  memory  waneth,  Master  Silas,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas, 
looking  seriously.  "  If  thou  couldst  repeat  it,  without  the 
grimace  of  singing,  it  were  not  ill." 

Master  Silas  struck  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  repeated  the 
first  stave  angrily ;  but  in  the  second  he  forgot  the  admonition 
of  Sir  Thomas,  and  did  sing  outright,  — 

"  Jack  Calvin  and  Jack  Cade, 
Two  gentles  of  one  trade,  — 

Two  tinkers, — 
Very  gladly  would  pull  down 
Mother  Church  and  Father  Crown, 
And  would  starve  or  would  drown 

Right  thinkers. 

Honest  man  !  honest  man  ! 

Fill  the  can,  fill  the  can, 
They  are  coming  !  they  are  coming  !  they  are  coming ! 

If  any  drop  be  left, 

It  might  tempt  'em  to  a  theft  — 
Zooks  !  't  was  only  the  ale  that  was  humming." 

"  In  the  first  stave,  gramercy !  there  is  an  awful  verity," 
quoth  Sir  Thomas ;  "  but  I  wonder  that  a  dean  should  let  his 
skewer  slip  out  and  his  fat  catch  fire  so  wofully  in  the  second. 
Light  stuff,  Silas,  fit  only  for  ale-houses." 

Master  Silas  was  nettled  in  the  nose,  and  answered,  "  Let 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  23! 

me  see  the  man  in  Warwickshire,  and  in  all  the  counties 
round,  who  can  run  at  such  a  rate  with  so  light  a  feather  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  I  am  no  poet,  thank  God  !  but  I  know 
what  folks  can  do,  and  what  folks  cannot  do." 

"Well,  Silas,"  replied  Sir  Thomas,  "after  thy  thanksgiving 
for  being  no  poet,  let  us  have  the  rest  of  the  piece." 

"  The  rest ! "  quoth  Master  Silas.  "  When  the  ale  hath 
done  with  its  humming,  it  is  time,  methinks,  to  dismiss  it.  Sir, 
there  never  was  any  more  :  you  might  as  well  ask  for  more 
after  Amen  or  the  See  of  Canterbury." 

Sir  Thomas  was  dissatisfied,  and  turned  off  the  discourse ; 
and  peradventure  he  grew  more  inclined  to  be  gracious  unto 
Willy  from  the  slight  rub  his  chaplain  had  given  him,  were  it 
only  for  the  contrariety.  When  he  had  collected  his  thoughts, 
he  was  determined  to  assert  his  supremacy  on  the  score  of 
poetry. 

"Deans,  I  perceive,  like  other  quality,"  said  he,  "cannot  run 
on  long  together.  My  friend,  Sir  Everard  Starkeye,  could 
never  over-leap  four  bars.  I  remember  but  one  composition  of 
his,  on  a  young  lady  who  mocked  at  his  inconsistency  in  call- 
ing her  sometimes  his  Grace  and  at  other  times  his  Muse,  — 

'  My  Grace  shall  Fanny  Carew  be, 
While  here  she  deigns  to  stay  ; 

And  (ah,  how  sad  the  change  for  me  I) 
My  Muse  when  far  away  ! ' 

And  when  we  laughed  at  him  for  turning  his  back  upon  her 
after  the  fourth  verse,  all  he  could  say  for  himself  was,  that  he 
would  rather  a  game  at  all  fours  with  Fanny,  than  ombre  and 
picquet  with  the  finest  furbelows  in  Christendom.  Men  of  con- 
dition do  usually  want  a  belt  in  the  course." 

Whereunto  said  Master  Silas,  "Men  out  of  condition  are 
quite  as  liable  to  lack  it,  methinks." 

"Silas,  Silas,"  replied  the  knight,  impatiently,  "  prythee 
keep  to  thy  divinity,  thy  stronghold  upon  Zion ;  thence  none 
that  faces  thee  can  draw  thee  without  being  bitten  to  the  bone. 
Leave  poetry  to  me  !  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  quoth  Master  Silas  ;  "  I  will  never  ask 
a  belt  from  her,  until  I  see  she  can  afford  to  give  a  shirt.  She 
has  promised  a  belt  indeed,  not  one  however  that  doth  much 


232  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

improve  the  wind  to  this  lad  here,  and  will  keep  her  word ; 
but  she  was  forced  to  borrow  the  pattern  from  a  Carthusian 
friar,  and  somehow  it  slips  above  the  shoulder." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  of  that,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas.  "  He 
shall  have  fair  play.  He  carrieth  in  his  mind  many  valuable 
things,  whereof  it  hath  pleased  Providence  to  ordain  him  the 
depositary.  He  hath  laid  before  us  certain  sprigs  of  poetry 
from  Oxford  trim  as  pennyroyal,  and  larger  leaves  of  house- 
hold divinity  the  most  mildly-savored,  —  pleasant  in  health, 
and  wholesome  in  sickness." 

"I  relish  not  such  mutton-broth  divinity,"  said  Master  Silas. 
"It  makes  me  sick  in  order  to  settle  my  stomach." 

"We  may  improve  it,"  said  the  knight;  "but  first  let  us 
hear  more." 

Then  did  William  Shakspeare  resume  Dr.  Glaston's  dis- 
course. 

"'Ethelbert,  I  think  thou  walkest  but  little;  otherwise  I 
should  take  thee  with  me,  some  fine  fresh  morning,  as  far  as 
unto  the  first  hamlet  on  the  Cherwell.  There  lies  young 
Wellerby,  who  the  year  before  was  wont  to  pass  many  hours 
of  the  day  poetizing  amid  the  ruins  of  Godstow  nunnery.  It 
is  said  that  he  bore  a  fondness  toward  a  young  maiden  in 
that  place,  —  formerly  a  village,  now  containing  but  two  old 
farm-houses.  In  my  memory  there  were  still  extant  several 
dormitories.  Some  love-sick  girl  had  recollected  an  ancient 
name,  and  had  engraven  on  a  stone  with  a  garden-nail,  which 
lay  in  rust  near  it,  — 

POORE    ROSAMUND. 

I  entered  these  precincts,  and  beheld  a  youth  of  manly  form 
and  countenance  washing  and  wiping  a  stone  with  a  handful 
of  wet  grass ;  and  on  my  going  up  to  him  and  asking  what  he 
had  found,  he  showed  it  to  me.  The  next  time  I  saw  him  was 
near  the  banks  of  the  Cherwell.  He  had  tried,  it  appears,  to 
forget  or  overcome  his  foolish  passion,  and  had  applied  his 
whole  mind  unto  study.  He  was  foiled  by  his  competitor; 
and  now  he  sought  consolation  in  poetry.  Whether  this 
opened  the  wounds  that  had  closed  in  his  youthful  breast,  and 
malignant  Love  in  his  revenge  poisoned  it;  or  whether  the 
disappointment  he  had  experienced  in  finding  others  preferred 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  233 

to  him,  first  in  the  paths  of  fortune,  then  in  those  of  the 
muses,  —  he  was  thought  to  have  died  broken-hearted. 

"  '  About  half  a  mile  from  St.  John's  College  is  the  termina- 
tion of  a  natural  terrace,  with  the  Cherwell  close  under  it,  in 
some  places  bright  with  yellow  and  red  flowers  glancing  and 
glowing  through  the  stream,  and  suddenly  in  others  dark 
with  the  shadows  of  many  different  trees,  in  broad  overbend- 
ing  thickets,  and  with  rushes  spear-high,  and  party-colored 
flags. 

"  'After  a  walk  in  midsummer  the  immersion  of  our  hands 
into  the  cool  and  closing  grass  is  surely  not  the  least  among 
our  animal  delights.  I  was  just  seated,  and  the  first  sensation 
of  rest  vibrated  in  me  gently,  as  though  it  were  music  to  the 
limbs,  when  I  discovered  by  a  hollow  in  the  herbage  that  an- 
other was  near.  The  long  meadow-sweet  and  blooming  burnet 
half  concealed  from  me  him  whom  the  earth  was  about  to  hide 
totally  and  forever.  "  Master  Batchelor,"  said  I,  "it  is  ill 
sleeping  by  the  water-side." 

"  '  No  answer  was  returned.  I  arose,  went  to  the  place,  and 
recognized  poor  Wellerby.  His  brow  was  moist,  his  cheek 
was  warm.  A  few  moments  earlier  and  that  dismal  lake  where- 
unto  and  wherefrom  the  waters  of  life,  the  buoyant  blood,  ran 
no  longer,  might  have  received  one  vivifying  ray  reflected  from 
my  poor  casement.  I  might  not  indeed  have  comforted, —  I 
have  often  failed ;  but  there  is  one  who  never  has,  and  the 
strengthener  of  the  bruised  reed  should  have  been  with  us. 

"  «  Remembering  that  his  mother  did  abide  one  mile  farther 
on,  I  walked  forward  to  the  mansion,  and  asked  her  what  tid- 
ings she  lately  had  received  of  her  son.  She  replied  that, 
having  given  up  his  mind  to  light  studies,  the  fellows  of  the 
college  would  not  elect  him.  The  master  had  warned  him  be- 
forehand to  abandon  his  selfish  poetry,  take  up  manfully  the 
quarterstaff  of  logic  and  wield  it  for  St.  John's,  come  who 
would  into  the  ring.  "'We  want  our  man/  said  he  to  me, 
*  and  your  son  hath  failed  us  in  the  hour  of  need.  Madam,  he 
hath  been  foully  beaten  in  the  schools  by  one  he  might  have 
swallowed,  with  due  exercise.'  I  rated  him,  told  him  I  was 
poor,  and  he  knew  it.  He  was  stung,  and  threw  himself  upon 
my  neck  and  wept.  Twelve  days  have  passed  since,  and  only 
three  rainy  ones.  I  hear  he  has  been  seen  upon  the  knoll 


234  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

yonder,  but  hither  he  hath  not  come.  I  trust  he  knows  at  last 
the  value  of  time,  and  I  shall  be  heartily  glad  to  see  him  after 
this  accession  of  knowledge.  Twelve  days,  it  is  true,  are 
rather  a  chink  than  a  gap  in  time ;  yet,  O  gentle  sir,  they 
are  that  chink  which  makes  the  vase  quite  valueless.  There 
are  light  words  which  may  never  be  shaken  off  the  mind  they 
fall  on.  My  child,  who  was  hurt  by  me,  will  not  let  me  see  the 
marks."  "  Lady,"  said  I,  "none  are  left  upon  him.  Be  com- 
forted, thou  shalt  see  him  this  hour.  All  that  thy  God  hath 
not  taken  is  yet  thine." 

" '  She  looked  at  me  earnestly,  and  would  have  then  asked 
something,  but  her  voice  failed  her.  There  was  no  agony,  no 
motion,  save  in  the  lips  and  cheeks.  Being  the  widow  of  one 
who  fought  under  Hawkins,  she  remembered  his  courage  and 
sustained  the  shock,  saying  calmly,  "  God's  will  be  done  !  I 
pray  that  he  find  me  as  worthy  as  he  findeth  me  willing  to  join 
them." 

"  *  Now,  in  her  unearthly  thoughts  she  had  led  her  only  son 
to  the  bosom  of  her  husband  ;  and  in  her  spirit  (which  often  is 
permitted  to  pass  the  gates  of  death  with  holy  love)  she  left 
them  both  with  their  Creator. 

" '  The  curate  of  the  village  sent  those  who  should  bring 
home  the  body ;  and  some  days  afterward  he  came  unto  me, 
beseeching  me  to  write  the  epitaph.  Being  no  friend  to  stone- 
cutter's charges,  I  entered  not  into  biography,  but  wrote  these 
few  words :  — 

JOANNES   WELLERBY 
LITERARUM    QU^ESIVIT    GLORIAM, 
VIDET   DEI.  '  " 

"Poor  tack,  poor  tack!"  sourly  quoth  Master  Silas.  "If 
your  wise  doctor  could  say  nothing  more  about  the  fool,  who 
died  like  a  rotten  sheep  among  the  darnels,  his  Latin  might 
have  held  out  for  the  father,  and  might  have  told  people  he 
was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  at  home,  and  as  hot  as  pepper  in 
battle.  Could  he  not  find  room  enough  on  the  whinstone  to  tell 
the  folks  of  the  village  how  he  played  the  devil  among  the  dons, 
burning  their  fingers  when  they  would  put  thumbscrews  upon 
us,  punching  them  in  the  weasand  as  a  blacksmith  punches 
a  horse-shoe,  and  throwing  them  overboard  like  bilgewater? 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  235 

Has  Oxford  lost  all  her  Latin?  Here  is  no  capitani  filius ; 
no  more  mention  of  family  than  a  Welshman  would  have  al- 
lowed him  ;  no  hie  jacet ;  and,  worse  than  all,  the  devil  a  tittle 
of  spe  redemptionis  or  anno  Domini" 

"  Willy,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas,  "  I  shrewdly  do  suspect  there 
was  more,  and  that  thou  hast  forgotten  it." 

"  Sir,"  answered  Willy,  "  I  wrote  not  down  the  words,  fearing 
to  mis-spell  them,  and  begged  them  of  the  doctor  when  I  took 
my  leave  of  him  on  the  morrow ;  and  verily  he  wrote  down  all 
he  had  repeated.  I  keep  them  always  in  the  tin-box  in  my 
waistcoat-pocket,  among  the  eel-hooks,  on  a  scrap  of  paper  a 
finger's  length  and  breadth,  folded  in  the  middle  to  fit.  And 
when  the  eels  are  running,  I  often  take  it  out  and  read  it  be- 
fore I  am  aware.  I  could  as  soon  forget  my  own  epitaph  as 
this." 

"  Simpleton  !  "  said  Sir  Thomas,  with  his  gentle  compassion- 
ate smile  ;  "but  thou  hast  cleared  thyself." 

Sir  Silas.  I  think  the  doctor  gave  one  idle  chap  as  much 
solid  pudding  as  he  could  digest,  with  a  slice  to  spare  for 
another. 

Shakspeare.  And  yet  after  this  pudding  the  doctor  gave 
him  a  spoonful  of  custard,  flavored  with  a  little  bitter,  which 
was  mostly  left  at  the  bottom  for  the  other  idle  chap. 

—  Sir  Thomas  not  only  did  endure  this  very  good-naturedly, 
but  deigned  even  to  take  in  good  part  the  smile  upon  my  coun- 
tenance, as  though  he  were  a  smile-collector,  and  as  though  his 
estate  were  so  humble  that  he  could  hold  his  laced-bonnet  (in 
all  his  bravery)  for  bear  and  fiddle. 

He  then  said  unto  Willy,  "  Place  likewise  this  custard  before 
us." 

"  There  is  but  little  of  it ;  the  platter  is  shallow,"  replied  he  ; 
"  't  was  suited  to  Master  Ethelbert's  appetite.  The  contents 
were  these  :  — 

"  « The  things  whereon  thy  whole  soul  brooded  in  its  inner- 
most recesses,  and  with  all  its  warmth  and  energy,  will  pass  un- 
prized and  unregarded,  not  only  throughout  thy  lifetime,  but 
long  after.  For  the  higher  beauties  of  poetry  are  beyond  the 
capacity,  beyond  the  vision,  of  almost  all.  Once  perhaps  in 
half  a  century  a  single  star  is  discovered,  then  named  and 
registered,  then  mentioned  by  five  studious  men  to  five  more  ; 


236  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

at  last  some  twenty  say,  or  repeat  in  writing,  what  they  have 
heard  about  it.  Other  stars  await  other  discoveries.  Few  and 
solitary,  and  wide  asunder,  are  those  who  calculate  their  relative 
distances,  their  mysterious  influences,  their  glorious  magnitude, 
and  their  stupendous  height.  'T  is  so,  believe  me,  and  ever 
was  so,  with  the  truest  and  best  poetry.  Homer,  they  say,  was 
blind  :  he  might  have  been  ere  he  died.  That  he  sat  among 
the  blind  we  are  sure.  Happy  they  who,  like  this  young  lad 
from  Stratford,  write  poetry  on  the  saddle-bow  when  their 
geldings  are  jaded,  and  keep  the  desk  for  better  purposes.' 

"  The  young  gentlemen,  like  the  elderly,  all  turned  their 
faces  toward  me,  to  my  confusion,  so  much  did  I  remark  of 
sneer  and  scoff  at  my  cost.  Master  Ethelbert  was  the  only  one 
who  spared  me.  He  smiled  and  said  :  '  Be  patient !  From 
the  higher  heavens  of  poetry,  it  is  long  before  the  radiance  of 
the  brightest  star  can  reach  the  world  below.  We  hear  that 
one  man  finds  out  one  beauty,  another  man  finds  out  another, 
placing  his  observatory  and  instruments  on  the  poet's  grave. 
The  worms  must  have  eaten  us  before  it  is  rightly  known  what 
we  are.  It  is  only  when  we  are  skeletons  that  we  are  boxed 
and  ticketed  and  prized  and  shown.  Be  it  so  !  I  shall  not  be 
tired  of  waiting.'  " 

"  Reasonable  youth  !  "  said  Sir  Thomas ;  "  yet  both  he  and 
Glaston  walk  rather  a-straddle,  methinks.  They  might  have 
stepped  up  to  thee  more  straightforwardly,  and  told  thee  the 
trade  ill  suiteth  thee,  having  little  fire,  little  fantasy,  and  little 
learning.  Furthermore  that  one  poet,  as  one  bull,  sufficeth 
for  two  parishes ;  and  that  where  they  are  stuck  too  close  to- 
gether they  are  apt  to  fire,  like  hay-stacks.  I  have  known  it 
myself;  I  have  had  my  malignants  and  scoffers." 

Shakspeare.     I  never  could  have  thought  it. 

Sir  Thomas.  There  again  !  Another  proof  of  thy  in- 
experience. 

Shakspeare.  Matt  Atterend  !  Matt  Atterend  !  where  wert 
thou  sleeping? 

Sir  Thomas.  I  shall  now  from  my  own  stores  impart  unto 
thee  what  will  avail  to  tame  thee,  showing  the  utter  hopeless- 
ness of  standing  on  that  golden  weathercock  which  supporteth 
but  one  at  a  time. 

The  passion  for  poetry  wherewith   Monsieur  Dubois  would 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE.  237 

have  inspired  me,  as  he  was  bound  to  do,  being  paid  before- 
hand, had  cold  water  thrown  upon  it  by  that  unlucky  one,  Sir 
Everard.  He  ridiculed  the  idea  of  male  and  female  rhymes, 
and  the  necessity  of  trying  them  as  rigidly  by  the  eye  as  by  the 
ear,  —  saying  to  Monsieur  Dubois  that  the  palate,  in  which  the 
French  excel  all  mortals,  ought  also  to  be  consulted  in  their  ac- 
ceptance or  rejection.  Monsieur  Dubois  told  us  that  if  we  did 
not  wish  to  be  taught  French  verse,  he  would  teach  us  English. 
Sir  Everard  preferred  the  Greek ;  but  Monsieur  Dubois  would 
not  engage  to  teach  the  mysteries  of  that  poetry  in  fewer  than 
thirty  lessons,  having  (since  his  misfortunes)  forgotten  the 
letters  and  some  other  necessaries. 

The  first  poem  I  ever  wrote  was  in  the  character  of  a  shep- 
herd, to  Mistress  Anne  Nanfan,  daughter  of  Squire  Fulke  Nan- 
fan,  of  Worcestershire,  at  that  time  on  a  visit  to  the  worshipful 
family  of  Compton  at  Long  Compton.  We  were  young  crea- 
tures, —  I  but  twenty-four  and  seven  months  (for  it  was  written 
on  the  i4th  of  May),  and  she  well-nigh  upon  a  twelvemonth 
younger.  My  own  verses  (the  first)  are  neither  here  nor  there  ; 
indeed  they  were  imbedded  in  solid  prose,  like  lampreys  and 
ram's-horns  in  our  limestone,  and  would  be  hard  to  get  out  whole. 
What  they  are  may  be  seen  by  her  answer,  all  in  verse  :  — 

Faithful  shepherd  !  dearest  Tommy  ! 
I  have  received  the  letter  from  ye, 

And  mightily  delight  therein. 
But  mother,  she  says,  "  Nanny  !  Nanny ! 
How,  being  staid  and  prudent,  can  ye 

Think  of  a  man,  and  not  of  fin  ?" 

Sir  Shepherd  !  I  held  down  my  head, 
And  "  Mother  !  fie  for  shame  !  "  I  said. 

All  I  could  say  would  not  content  her ; 
Mother  she  would  forever  harp  on  't, 
A  man  'j  no  better  than  a  sarpent, 

And  not  a  crumb  more  innocenter" 

I  know  not  how  it  happeneth,  but  a  poet  doth  open  before 
a  poet,  albeit  of  baser  sort.  It  is  not  that  I  hold  my  poetry  to 
be  better  than  some  other  in  time  past ;  it  is  because  I  would 
show  thee  that  I  was  virtuous  and  wooed  virtuously,  that  I  re- 
peat it.  Furthermore,  I  wished  to  leave  a  deep  impression  on 
the  mother's  mind  that  she  was  exceedingly  wrong  in  doubting 
my  innocence. 


238  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Shakspeare.     Gracious  Heaven  !  and  was  this  too  doubted  ? 

Sir  Thomas.  May  be  not ;  but  the  whole  race  of  men,  the 
whole  male  sex,  wanted  and  found  in  me  a  protector.  I  showed 
her  what  I  was  ready  to  do. 

Shakspeare.  Perhaps,  sir,  it  was  for  that  very  thing  that  she 
put  the  daughter  back  and  herself  forward. 

Sir  Thomas.  I  say  not  so,  but  thou  mayest  know  as  much 
as  befitteth,  by  what  follows  :  — 

Worshipful  lady  !  honored  madam  ! 
I  at  this  present  truly  glad  am 

To  have  so  fair  an  opportunity 
Of  saying  I  would  be  the  man 
To  bind  in  wedlock  Mistress  Anne, 

Living  with  her  in  holy  unity. 

And  for  a  jointure  I  will  gi'e  her 
A  good  two  hundred  pounds  a-year 

Accruing  from  my  landed  rents, 
Whereof  see  t'other  paper,  telling 
Lands,  copses,  and  grown  woods  for  felling, 

Capons,  and  cottage  tenements, — 

And  who  must  come  at  sound  of  horn, 
And  who  pays  but  a  barley-corn, 

And  who  is  bound  to  keep  a  whelp, 
And  what  is  brought  me  for  the  pound, 
And  copyholders  which  are  sound, 

And  which  do  need  the  leech's  help. 

And  you  may  see  in  these  two  pages 
Exact  their  illnesses  and  ages, 

Enough  (God  willing)  to  content  ye  : 
Who  looks  full  red,  who  looks  full  yellow, 
Who  plies  the  mullein,  whb  the  mallow, 

Who  fails  at  fifty,  who  at  twenty. 

Jim  Yates  must  go !     He 's  one  day  very  hot 
And  one  day  ice  ;  I  take  a  heriot ; 

And  poorly,  poorly  's  Jacob  Burgess  : 
The  doctor  tells  me  he  has  poured 
Into  his  stomach  half  his  hoard 

Of  anthelminticals  and  purges. 

Judith,  the  wife  of  Ebenezer 

Fillpots,  won't  have  him  long  to  tease  her; 

Fillpots  blows  hot  and  cold  like  Jim, 
And,  sleepless  lest  the  boys  should  plunder 
His  orchard,  he  must  soon  knock  under  ; 

Death  has  been  looking  out  for  him. 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  239 

He  blusters  ;  but  his  good  yard-land 
Under  the  church,  his  ale-house,  and 

His  Bible,  which  he  cut  in  spite, 
Must  all  fall  in  ;  he  stamps  and  swears 
And  sets  his  neighbors  by  the  ears  — 

Fillpots  !  thy  saddle  sits  not  tight ! 

Thy  epitaph  is  ready  :  "  Here 

Lies  one  -whom  all  his  friends  did  fear 

More  than  they  ever  feared  the  Lord  ; 
In  peace  he  was  at  times  a  Christian  ; 
In  strife  what  stubborner  Philtslian  ! 

Sing,  si  tig  his  psalm  with  one  accord''' 

And  the  brave  lad  who  sent  the  bluff 
Olive-faced  Frenchman  (sure  enough) 

Screaming  and  scouring  like  a  plover, 
Must  follow;  him  I  mean  who  dashed 
Into  the  water,  and  then  thrashed 

The  cullion  past  the  town  of  Dover. 

But  first  there  goes  the  blear  old  dame 
Who  nursed  me  ;  you  have  heard  her  name 

(No  doubt)  at  Compton,  —  Sarah  Salways; 
There  are  twelve  groats  at  once,  beside 
The  frying-pan  in  which  she  fried 
Her  pancakes. 

Madam,  I  am  always  (etc.), 

Sir  THOMAS  LUCY,  Knight. 

I  did  believe  that  such  a  clear  and  conscientious  exposure 
of  my  affairs  would  have  brought  me  a  like  return.  My  letter 
was  sent  back  to  me  with  small  courtesy.  It  may  be  there  was 
no  paper  in  the  house,  or  none  equalling  mine  in  whiteness. 
No  notice  was  taken  of  the  rent-roll ;  but  between  the  second 
and  third  stanza  these  four  lines  were  written,  in  a  very  fine 
hand  :  — 

"  Most  honored  knight,  Sir  Thomas  !  two 
For  merry  Nan  will  never  do  ; 
Now,  under  favor  let  me  say't, 
She  will  bring  more  herself  than  that." 

I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  worthy  lady  did  neither  write 
nor  countenance  the  same,  perhaps  did  not  ever  know  of  them. 
She  always  had  at  her  elbow  one  who  jogged  it  when  he  lis- 
ted, and  although  he  could  not  overrule  the  daughter,  he  took 
especial  care  that  none  other  should  remove  her  from  his  tute- 
lage, even  when  she  had  fairly  grown  up  to  woman's  estate. 


24O  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE. 

Now,  after  all  this  condescension  and  confidence,  promise 
me,  good  lad,  promise  that  thou  wilt  not  edge  and  elbow  me. 
Never  let  it  be  said,  when  people  say,  "  Sir  Thomas  was  a 
poet  when  he  willed  it ;  so  is  Bill  Shakspeare  !  "  It  beseem- 
eth  not  that  our  names  do  go  together  cheek  by  jowl  in  this 
familiar  fashion,  like  an  old  beagle  and  a  whelp,  in  couples, 
where  if  the  one  would,  the  other  would  not. 

Sir  Silas.  Sir,  while  these  thoughts  are  passing  in  your 
mind,  remember  there  is  another  pair  of  couples  out  of  which 
it  would  be  as  well  to  keep  the  cur's  neck. 

Sir  Thomas.  Young  man,  dost  thou  understand  Master 
Silas? 

Shakspeare.  But  too  well.  Not  those  couples  in  which  it 
might  be  apprehended  that  your  worship  and  my  unworthiness 
should  appear  too  close  together  ;  but  those  sorrowfuller  which 
peradventure  might  unite  Master  Silas  and  me  in  our  road  to 
Warwick  and  upward.  But  I  resign  all  right  and  title  unto 
these  as  willingly  as  I  did  unto  the  other,  and  am  as  ready  to 
let  him  go  alone. 

Sir  Silas.  If  we  keep  wheeling  and  wheeling,  like  a  flock 
of  pigeons,  and  rising  again  when  we  are  within  a  foot  of  the 
ground,  we  shall  never  fill  the  craw. 

Sir  Thomas.     Do  thou  then  question  him,  Silas. 

Sir  Silas.  I  am  none  of  the  quorum  ;  the  business  is  none 
of  mine. 

—  Then  Sir  Thomas  took  Master  Silas  again  into  the  bay- 
window,  and  said  softly,  "  Silas,  he  hath  no  inkling  of  thy 
meaning ;  the  business  is  a  ticklish  one ;  I  like  not  overmuch 
to  meddle  and  make  therein." 

Master  Silas  stood  dissatisfied  awhile,  and  then  answered, 
"  The  girl's  mother,  sir,  was  housemaid  and  sempstress  in  your 
own  family,  time  back,  and  you  thereby  have  a  right  over  her 
unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation." 

"  I  may  have,  Silas,"  said  his  worship  ;  "  but  it  was  no  longer 
than  four  or  five  years  agone  that  folks  were  fain  to  speak  ma- 
liciously of  me  for  only  finding  my  horse  in  her  hovel." 

Sir  Silas  looked  red  and  shiny  as  a  ripe  strawberry  on  a  Snit- 
terfield  tile,  and  answered  somewhat  peevishly,  "The  same 
folks,  I  misgive  me,  may  find  the  rogue's  there  any  night  in  the 
week." 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  24! 

Whereunto  replied  Sir  Thomas  mortifiedly,  "  I  cannot  think 
it,  Silas,  I  cannot  think  it."  And  after  some  hesitation  and 
disquiet,  —  "  Nay,  I  am  resolved  I  will  not  think  it ;  no  man, 
friend  or  enemy,  shall  push  it  into  me." 

"  Worshipful  sir,"  answered  Master  Silas,  "  I  am  as  resolute 
as  any  one  in  what  I  would  think  and  what  I  would  not  think, 
and  never  was  known  to  fight  dunghill  in  either  cockpit.  Were 
he  only  out  of  the  way,  she  might  do  her  duty ;  but  what  doth 
she  now  ?  She  points  his  young  beard  for  him,  persuading  him 
it  grows  thicker  and  thicker,  blacker  and  blacker ;  she  washes 
his  ruff,  stiffens  it,  plaits  it,  tries  it  upon  his  neck,  removes  the 
hair  from  under  it,  pinches  it  with  thumb  and  forefinger,  pre- 
tending that  he  hath  moiled  it,  puts  her  hand  all  the  way  round 
it,  setting  it  to  rights,  as  she  calleth  it  —  Ah,  Sir  Thomas,  a 
louder  whistle  than  that  will  never  call  her  back  again  when 
she  is  off  with  him." 

Sir  Thomas  was  angered,  and  cried  tartly,  "  Who  whistled,  I 
would  know?" 

Master  Silas  said  submissively,  "  Your  honor,  as  wrongfully  I 
fancied." 

"  Wrongfully,  indeed,  and  to  my  no  small  disparagement  and 
discomfort,"  said  the  knight,  verily  believing  that  he  had  not 
whistled  ;  for  deep  and  dubious  were  his  cogitations.  "  I  pro- 
test," went  he  on  to  say,  "I  protest  it  was  the  wind  of  the  case- 
ment ;  and  if  I  live  another  year  I  will  put  a  better  in  the  place 
of  it.  Whistle,  indeed  !  For  what  ?  I  care  no  more  about 
her  than  about  an  unfledged  cygnet,  —  a  child,1  a  chicken,  a 
mere  kitten,  a  crab-blossom  in  the  hedge." 

The  dignity  of  his  worship  was  wounded  by  Master  Silas 
unaware,  and  his  wrath  again  turned  suddenly  upon  poor 
William  :  — 

"  Hark  ye,  knave  !  hark  ye  again,  ill-looking  stripling,  lanky 
from  vicious  courses  !  I  will  reclaim  thee  from  them ;  I  wi  1 
do  what  thy  own  father  would  and  cannot.  Thou  shalt  follow 
his  business." 

"  I  cannot  do  better,  may  it  please  your  worship,"  said 
the  lad. 

1  She  was  then  twenty-eight  years  of  age.  Sir  Thomas  must  have 
spoken  of  her  from  earlier  recollections.  Shakspeare  was  in  his  twenti- 
eth year. 

16 


242  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE. 

"  It  shall  lead  thee  unto  wealth  and  respectability,"  said  the 
knight,  somewhat  appeased  by  his  ready  compliancy  and  low 
gentle  voice.  "  Yea,  but  not  here ;  no  witches,  no  wantons 
[this  word  fell  gravely  and  at  full  length  upon  the  ear],  no 
spells  hereabout.  Gloucestershire  is  within  a  measured  mile  of 
thy  dwelling.  There  is  one  at  Bristol,  formerly  a  parish-boy, 
or  little  better,  who  now  writeth  himself  '  gentleman  '  in  large 
round  letters,  and  hath  been  elected,  I  hear,  to  serve  as  bur- 
gess in  Parliament  for  his  native  city,  —  just  as  though  he  had 
eaten  a  capon  or  turkey-poult  in  his  youth,  and  had  actually 
been  at  grammar-school  and  college.  When  he  began,  he  had 
not  credit  for  a  goat-skin ;  and  now,  behold  ye  !  this  very  coat 
upon  my  back  did  cost  me  eight  shillings  the  dearer  for  him, 
he  bought  up  wool  so  largely." 

Shakspeare.  May  it  please  your  worship,  if  my  father  so 
ordereth,  I  go  cheerfully. 

Sir  Thomas.  Thou  art  grown  discreet  and  dutiful.  I  am 
fain  to  command  thy  release,  taking  thy  promise  on  oath,  and 
some  reasonable  security,  that  thou  wilt  abstain  and  withhold 
in  future  from  that  idle  and  silly  slut,  that  sly  and  scoffing 
giggler,  Hannah  Hathaway,  with  whom,  to  the  heartache  of 
thy  poor  worthy  father,  thou  wantonly  keepest  company. 

—  Then  did  Sir  Thomas  ask  Master  Silas  Gough  for  the 
Book  of  Life,  bidding  him  deliver  it  into  the  right  hand  of  Billy, 
with  an  eye  upon  him  that  he  touch  it  with  both  lips,  —  it  be- 
ing taught  by  the  Jesuits,  and  caught  too  greedily  out  of  their 
society  and  communion,  that  whoso  toucheth  it  with  one  lip 
only,  and  thereafter  sweareth  falsely,  cannot  be  called  a  per- 
jurer, since  perjury  is  breaking  an  oath.  But  breaking  half  an 
oath,  as  he  doth  who  toucheth  the  Bible  or  crucifix  with  one 
lip  only,  is  no  more  perjury  than  breaking  an  eggshell  is  break- 
ing an  egg,  the  shell  being  a  part,  and  the  egg  being  an 
integral. 

William  did  take  the  Holy  Book  with  all  due  reverence  the 
instant  it  was  offered  to  his  hand.  His  stature  seemed  to  rise 
therefrom  as  from  a  pulpit,  and  Sir  Thomas  was  quite  edified. 

"  Obedient  and  conducible  youth  !  "  said  he.  "  See  there, 
Master  Silas  !  What  hast  thou  now  to  say  against  him  ?  Who 
sees  farthest?" 

"  The  man  from  the  gallows  is  the   most  likely,  bating  his 


CITATION    OF    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE.  243 

nightcap  and  blinker,"  said  Master  Silas,  peevishly.  "He  hath 
not  outwitted  me  yet." 

"  He  seized  upon  the  Anchor  of  Faith  like  a  martyr,"  said 
Sir  Thomas ;  "  and  even  now  his  face  bums  red  as  elder-wine 
before  the  gossips." 

Shakspeare.  I  await  the  further  orders  of  your  worship  from 
the  chair. 

Sir  Thomas      I  return  and  seat  myself. 

—  And  then  did  Sir  Thomas  say  with  great  complacency 
and  satisfaction  in  the  ear  of  Master  Silas,  "  What  civility 
and  deference  and  sedateness  of  mind,  Silas  !  " 

But  Master  Silas  answered  not. 

Shakspeare.     Must  I  swear,  sir? 

Sir  Thomas.  Yea,  swear ;  be  of  good  courage  !  I  protest 
to  thee,  by  my  honor  and  knighthood,  no  ill  shall  come  unto 
thee  therefrom.  Thou  shalt  not  be  circumvented  in  thy 
simpleness  and  inexperience. 

—  Willy,  having  taken  the  Book  of  Life,  did  kiss  it  piously, 
and  did  press  it  unto  his  breast,  saying,  "Tenderest  love  is 
the  growth  of  my  heart,  as  the  grass  is  of  Alvescote  mead. 
May  I  lose  my  life  or  my  friends,  or  my  memory  or  my 
reason ;  may  I  be  viler  in  my  own  eyes  than  those  men 
are  —  " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  most  lovingly  by  Sir  Thomas,  who 
said  unto  him,  "  Nay,  nay,  nay  !  poor  youth,  do  not  tell  me  so  ! 
They  are  not  such  very  bad  men  ;  since  thou  appealest  unto 
Caesar,  —  that  is,  unto  the  judgment-seat." 

Now,  his  worship  did  mean  the  two  witnesses,  Joseph  and 
Euseby ;  and,  sooth  to  say,  there  be  many  worse.  But  Wil- 
liam had  them  not  in  his  eye ;  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  as 
will  be  evident,  for  he  went  on  thus  :  — 

"  —  if  ever  I  forget  or  desert  thee,  or  ever  cease  to  worship l 
and  cherish  thee,  my  Hannah  !  " 

Sir  Silas.  The  madman  !  the  audacious,  desperate,  out- 
rageous villain !  Look  ye,  sir,  where  he  flung  the  Holy 
Gospel !  Behold  it  on  the  holly  and  box-boughs  in  the 
chimney-place,  spreaden  all  abroad,  like  a  lad  about  to  be 
whipped  ! 

1  It  is  to  be  feared  that  his  taste  for  venison  outlasted  that  for  matri- 
mony, spite  of  this  vow. 


244  CITATION    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir  Thomas.  Miscreant  knave !  I  will  send  after  him 
forthwith  !  Ho,  there  !  is  the  caitiff  at  hand,  or  running  off? 

—  Jonas  Greenfield  the  butler  did  budge  forward  after  a 
while,  and  say,  on  being  questioned,  "  Surely,  that  was  he  ! 
Was  his  nag  tied  to  the  iron  gate  at  the  lodge,  Master  Silas?  " 

"What  should  I  know  about  a  thief s  nag,  Jonas  Green- 
field?" 

"And  didst  thou  let  him  go,  Jonas,  even  thou?"  said  Sir 
Thomas.  "  What,  are  none  found  faithful?  " 

"  Lord  love  your  worship  !  "  said  Jonas  Greenfield  ;  "  a  man 
of  threescore  and  two  may  miss  catching  a  kite  upon  wing. 
Fleetness  doth  not  make  folks  the  faithfuller,  or  that  youth 
yonder  beats  us  all  in  faithfulness.  Look,  he  darts  on  like  a 
greyhound  whelp  after  a  leveret.  He,  sure  enough,  it  was  ! 
I  now  remember  the  sorrel  mare  his  father  bought  of  John 
Kinderley  last  Lammas,  swift  as  he  threaded  the  trees  along 
the  park.  He  must  have  reached  Wellesbourne  ere  now  at 
that  gallop,  and  pretty  nigh  Walton-hill." 

Sir  Thomas.  Merciful  Christ !  grant  the  country  be  rid  of 
him  forever !  What  dishonor  upon  his  friends  and  native 
town  !  A  reputable  wool-stapler's  son  turned  gypsy  and  poet 
for  life. 

Sir  Silas.  A  Beelzebub  !  he  spake  as  bigly  and  fiercely  as  a 
soaken  yeoman  at  an  election  feast,  —  this  obedient  and  con- 
ducible  youth  ! 

Sir  Thomas.     It  was  so  written.     Hold  thy  peace,  Silas  ! 


BY  ME,  EPHRAIM  BARNETT. 


TWELVE  days  are  over  and  gone  since  William  Shakspeare  did 
leave  our  parts.  And  the  spinster,  Hannah  Hathaway,  is  in  sad 
doleful  plight  about  him  ;  forasmuch  as  Master  Silas  Gough  went 
yesterday  unto  her,  in  her  mother's  house  at  Shottery,  and  did 
desire  both  her  and  her  mother  to  take  heed  and  be  admonished 
that  if  ever  she,  Hannah,  threw  away  one  thought  after  the  runa- 
gate William  Shakspeare,  he  should  swing. 

The  girl  could  do  nothing  but  weep ;  while  as  the  mother  did 
give  her  solemn  promise  that  her  daughter  should  never  more  think 
about  him  all  her  natural  life,  reckoning  from  the  moment  of  this 
her  promise. 

And  the  maiden,  now  growing  more  reasonable,  did  promise  the 
same.  But  Master  Silas  said,  kk  1  doubt  you  will,  though." 

"  No,"  said  the  mother,  "  I  answer  for  her  she  shall  not  think  of 
him,  even  if  she  sees  his  ghost." 

Hannah  screamed  and  swooned,  the  better  to  forget  him.  And 
Master  Silas  went  home  easier  and  contenteder.  For  now  all  the 
worst  of  his  hard  duty  was  accomplished  ;  he  having  been,  on 
the  Wednesday  of  last  week,  at  the  speech  of  Master  John  Shak- 
speare, Will's  father,  to  inquire  whether  the  sorrel  mare  was  his. 
To  which  question  the  said  Master  John  Shakspeare  did  answer, 
"Yea." 

"  Enough  said  !  "  rejoined  Master  Silas.  "  Horse-stealing  is 
capital.  We  shall  bind  thee  over  to  appear  against  the  culprit,  as 
prosecutor,  at  the  next  assizes." 

May  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  give  the  lad  a  good  deliverance,  if  so 
be  it  be  no  sin  to  wish  it ! 

OCTOBER  i,  A.  D.  1582. 

LAUS  DEO. 

E.  B. 


MINOR    PROSE    PIECES. 


MINOR    PROSE    PIECES. 


I.     OPINIONS   ON    CAESAR,   CROMWELL,    MILTON, 
AND    BONAPARTE. 

No  person  has  a  better  right  than  Lord  Brougham  to  speak 
contemptuously  of  Caesar,  of  Cromwell,  and  of  Milton.  Caesar 
was  the  purest  and  most  Attic  writer  of  his  country,  and  there 
is  no  trace  of  intemperance,  in  thought  or  expression,  through- 
out the  whole  series  of  his  hostilities.  He  was  the  most  gener- 
ous friend,  he  was  the  most  placable  enemy ;  he  rose  with 
moderation,  and  he  fell  with  dignity.  Can  we  wonder  then  at 
Lord  Brougham's  unfeigned  antipathy  and  assumed  contempt  ? 
Few  well-educated  men  are  less  able  to  deliver  a  sound  opinion 
of  style  than  his  lordship ;  and  perhaps  there  are  not  many  of 
our  contemporaries  who  place  a  just  value  on  Caesar's,  dissim- 
ilar as  it  is  in  all  its  qualities  to  what  they  turn  over  on  the 
sofa-table.  There  is  calmness,  there  is  precision,  there  is  a 
perspicuity  which  shows  objects  in  their  proper  size  and  posi- 
tion ;  there  is  strength  without  strain,  and  superiority  without 
assertion.  I  acknowledge  my  preference  of  his  style,  and  he 
must  permit  me  to  add  Cicero's,  to  that  which  he  considers 
the  best  of  all,  —  namely,  his  own ;  and  he  must  pardon  me  if  I 
entertain  an  early  predilection  for  easy  humor  over  hard  vul- 
garity, and  for  graceful  irony  over  intractable  distortion.  I 
was  never  an  admirer,  even  in  youth,  of  those  abrupt  and  splin- 
tery sentences  which,  like  many  coarse  substances,  sparkle 
only  when  they  are  broken,  and  are  looked  at  only  for  their 
sharpnesses  and  inequalities. 

Caesar  and  Cromwell  are  hung  up  in  the  same  wicker  basket, 
as  an  offering  to  the  warrior  God  of  our  formidable  Celt's  idol- 


250  OPINIONS    ON    C^SAR,    ETC. 

atry.  Cromwell  was  destitute  of  all  those  elegancies  which 
adorned  the  Roman  dictator,  but  he  alone  possessed  in  an 
equal  degree  all  those  which  insure  the  constancy  of  Fortune. 
Both  were  needful,  —  one  against  an  unjust  and  reckless  aris- 
tocracy whose  leader  had  declared  that  he  would  follow  up  the 
steps  of  Sulla,  and  cover  the  fields  of  Italy  with  slaughter ;  the 
other,  to  rescue  the  most  religious  and  most  conscientious  of 
his  countrymen  from  the  persecution  of  an  unchristian  and 
intolerant  episcopacy,  and  the  bravest  friends  of  ancient  free- 
dom from  torture,  from  mutilation,  and  from  solitude  and 
death  in  pestilential  jails.  Were  such  the  deeds  of  Charles? 
Yes;  but  before  an  infallible  Church  had  commanded  us  to 
worship  him  among  the  martyrs.  Among  ?  no,  not  among,  — 
above,  and  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  rest.  This  was  wanting 
as  the  finishing  stroke  of  our  Reformation.  And  was  Cromwell 
then  pure  ?  Certainly  not ;  but  he  began  in  sincerity,  and  he 
believed  to  the  last  that  every  accession  of  power  was  an 
especial  manifestation  of  God's  mercy.  Fanaticism  hath  always 
drawn  to  herself  such  conclusions  from  the  Bible.  Power  made 
him  less  pious,  but  more  confident.  God  had  taken  him  by 
the  hand  at  first,  and  had  now  let  him  walk  by  himself:  to 
show  how  he  could  walk,  he  strode.  Religion,  in  the  exercise  N 
of  power,  is  more  arbitrary,  more  intolerant,  and  more  cruel 
than  monarchy ;  and  the  sordid  arrogance  of  Presbyterianism  J 
succeeded  to  the  splendid  tyranny  of  Episcopacy.  The  crozier  ~* 
of  Laud  was  unbroken;  those  who  had  been  the  first  in 
cursing  it,  seized  and  exercised  it :  it  was  to  fall  in  pieces 
under  the  sword  of  Cromwell.  To  him  alone  are  we  indebted 
for  the  establishment  of  religious  liberty.  If  a  Vane  and  a 
Milton  have  acknowledged  the  obligation,  how  feeble  were  the 
voices  of  all  men  living,  if  the  voices  of  all  men  living  were 
raised  against  it.  Of  our  English  rulers  Oliver  holds  the  next  , 
place  to  Alfred ;  and  it  would  be  unjust  and  ignominious  to 
station  him  merely  on  a  level  with  the  most  intelligent,  the 
most  energetic,  and  the  most  patriotic  of  succeeding  kings. 
He  did  indeed  shed  blood ;  but  the  blood  he  shed  was  solely 
for  his  country,  although  without  it  he  never  would  have  risen 
to  the  Protectorate.  The  same  cannot  be  said  of  Caesar ;  nor 
of  that  extraordinary  personage  whom  some  of  his  flatterers 
place  beside,  and  some  before  him. 


OPINIONS    ON    C.ESAR,    ETC.  251 

f 

The  first  campaigns  of  Bonaparte  were  admirably  conducted, 
and  honor  and  glory  in  the  highest  degree  are  due  to  him  for 
abstaining  from  the  plunder  of  Italy.  It  would  be  ungenerous 
to  seize  the  obvious  idea  that  by  his  vivid  imagination  he  prob- 
ably saw  in  the  land  of  his  forefathers  his  future  realm,  without 
any  such  hope  regarding  France,  and  was  desirous  of  winning 
those  golden  opinions  which  bear  so  high  an  interest.  But 
Egypt  seems  to  be  the  country  in  which  the  renown  of  con- 
querors is  destined  to  be  tarnished.  The  latent  vices  of  the 
Persian,  of  the  Macedonian,  of  Pompey,  of  Julius,  of  Antonius, 
of  Octavius,  shot  up  here  and  brought  forth  fruits  after  their 
kind.  It  was  here  also  that  the  eagle  eye  of  Bonaparte  was 
befilmed  \  here  forty  thousand  of  the  best  troops  in  the  world 
were  defeated  under  his  guidance,  and  led  captive  after  his  de- 
sertion. He  lost  Hayti,  which  he  attempted  to  recover  by 
force ;  he  lost  Spain,  which  he  attempted  to  seize  by  perfidy. 
And  what  generosity  or  what  policy  did  he  display  with  Tous- 
saint  rOuverture,  or  with  Ferdinand  ?  Imprisonment  and  a 
miserable  death  befell  the  braver.  Is  there  a  human  heart  that 
swells  not  at  the  deliberate  murder  of  the  intrepid  and  blame- 
less Hofer?  I  say  nothing  of  Palm;  I  say  nothing  of  D'En- 
ghein :  even  in  such  atoms  as  these  he  found  room  enough  for 
the  perpetration  of  a  crime.  They  had  indeed  friends  to  mourn 
for  them,  but  they  were  not  singly  worth  whole  nations ;  their 
voices  did  not  breathe  courage  into  ten  thousand  breasts ;  chil- 
dren were  not  carried  into  churches  to  hear  their  names  uttered 
with  God's.  If  they  had  virtues,  those  virtues  perished  with 
them :  Hofer's  will  ring  eternally  on  every  mountain  and  irra- 
diate every  mine  of  Tyrol ;  Universal  Man,  domestic,  political, 
and  religious,  will  be  the  better  for  him.  When  he  was  led  to 
slaughter  in  Mantua,  some  of  those  Italian  soldiers  who  had 
followed  Bonaparte  in  his  earliest  victories  shed  tears.  The 
French  themselves,  from  the  drummer  on  the  platform  to  the 
governor  in  the  citadel,  thought  of  the  cause  that  first  united 
them  in  arms,  and  knew  that  it  was  Hofer's.  Bonaparte  could 
no  more  pardon  bravery  in  his  enemy  than  cowardice  in  his 
soldier.  No  expression  was  too  virulent  for  Hofer,  for  Sir 
Sydney  Smith,  or  for  any  who  had  foiled  him  ;  he  spoke  contemp- 
tuously of  Kleber,  maliciously  of  Hoche ;  he  could  not  even 
refrain  from  an  unmanly  triumph  on  the  death  of  the  weak 


252  OPINIONS    ON    C.ESAR,    ETC. 

Moreau.  If  this  is  greatness,  he  certainly  did  not  inherit  it 
from  any  great  man  on  record.  Sympathy  with  men  at  large 
is  not  among  their  attributes,  but  sympathy  with  the  courageous 
and  enterprising  may  be  found  in  all  of  them,  and  sometimes 
a  glance  has  fallen  from  them  so  low  as  on  the  tomb  of  the 
unfortunate.  The  inhumanity  of  Napoleon  was  certainly  not 
dictated  by  policy,  whose  dictates,  rightly  understood,  never 
point  in  that  direction.  It  is  unnecessary  to  discuss  what  in- 
struction he  received  in  his  military  school,  after  which  he  had 
small  leisure  for  any  unconnected  with  his  profession.  And  so 
little  was  his  regard  for  literature  in  others,  that  he  drove  out 
of  France  the  only  person  in  that  country 1  who  had  attained 
any  eminence  in  it.  His  "  Catechism  "  was  adapted  to  send 
back  the  rising  generation  to  the  Middle  Ages. 

But  let  us  consider  that  portion  of  his  policy  which  he  studied 
most,  and  on  which  he  would  have  founded  his  power  and 
looked  forward  to  the  establishment  of  his  dynasty.  He  repu- 
diated the  woman  who  attached  to  him  the  best  of  all  parties, 
by  the  sweetness  of  her  temper  and  the  activity  of  her  benefi- 
cence ;  and  he  married  into  the  only  family  proscribed  by  the 
prejudices  of  his  nation.  He  soon  grew  restless  with  peace, 
and  uneasy  under  the  weight  of  his  acquisitions.  No  public 
man,  not  Pitt  himself,  ever  squandered  such  prodigious  means 
so  unprofitably.  Anxious  to  aggrandize  his  family,  could  he 
not  have  given  the  whole  of  Italy  to  one  brother,  leaving  Spain 
as  his  privy  purse  in  the  hands  of  its  imbecile  Bourbon  ?  Could 
he  not  have  given  Poland  and  Polish  Prussia  to  the  King  of 
Saxony,  and  have  placed  an  eternal  barrier  between  France  and 
Russia?  The  Saxon  dominions,  with  Prussian  Silesia,  would 
have  recompensed  Austria  for  the  session  of  the  Venetian  ter- 
ritories on  the  West  of  the  Tagliamento.  I  do  not  suggest 
these  practicabilities  as  fair  dealings  toward  nations  :  I  suggest 
them  only  as  suitable  to  the  interests  of  Napoleon,  who  shook 
and  threw  nations  as  another  gamester  shakes  and  throws  dice. 
Germany  should  have  been  broken  up  into  its  old  Hanse  towns 
and  small  principalities. 

With  such  arrangements,  all  feasible  at  one  time  or  other, 
France  would  have  been  unassailable.  Instead  of  which,  her 
ruler  fancied  it  necessary  to  make  an  enemy  of  Russia.  Had 
1  Madame  de  Stael. 


OPINIONS    ON    C/ESAR,    ETC.  253 

it  been  so,  he  might  have  profited  by  the  experience  of  all  who 
had  ever  invaded  the  interior  of  that  country.  The  extremities 
of  the  Muscovite  empire  are  easily  broken  off,  by  lying  at  so 
great  a  distance  from  the  trunk ;  added  to  which,  they  all  are 
grafts,  imperfectly  granulated  on  an  uncongenial  stock,  and  with 
the  rush-bound  cement  fresh  and  friable  about  them.  Moscow 
never  could  be  long  retained  by  any  hostile  forces  ;  subsistence 
would  be  perpetually  cut  off  and  carried  away  from  them  by 
hostile  tribes,  assailing  and  retreating  as  necessity  might  de- 
mand, and  setting  fire  to  the  harvests  and  the  forests.  The 
inhabitants  of  that  city,  especially  the  commercial  body  and 
the  ancient  nobility,  would  have  rejoiced  at  the  demolition  of 
Petersburg  which  nothing  could  prevent,  the  ports  of  the  Baltic 
being  in  the  hands  of  Bonaparte,  and  Dantzic  containing  stores 
of  every  kind,  sufficient  for  an  army  the  most  numerous  that 
ever  marched  upon  the  earth.  For  the  Asiatic  have  contained, 
in  all  ages,  less  than  a  fifth  of  fighting  men,  the  rest  being  mer- 
chants, husbandmen,  drovers,  artisans,  and  other  followers  of  the 
camp.  The  stores  had  been  conveyed  by  the  coast,  instead  of 
employing  two-thirds  of  the  cavalry ;  and  the  King  of  Sweden 
had  been  invited  to  take  possession  of  a  fortress  (for  city  there 
would  have  been  none)  protecting  a  province  long  under  his 
crown,  and  reluctantly  torn  away  from  it.  No  man  ever  yet 
obtained  the  lasting  renown  of  a  consummate  general  who 
committed  the  same  mistakes  as  had  been  committed  in  the 
same  position  by  those  before  him ;  who  suffered  great  reverses 
by  great  improvidence ;  who  never  rose  up  again  after  one 
discomfiture ;  or  who  led  forth  army  upon  army  fruitlessly. 
Napoleon,  in  the  last  years  of  his  sovereignty,  fought  without 
aim,  vanquished  without  glory,  and  perished  without  defeat. 

Did  Gustavus  Adolphus,  did  Frederick,  did  Washington,  ever 
experience  a  great  reverse  by  committing  a  great  imprudence  ? 
For  on  this  main  question  rests  the  solid  praise  of  generalship. 
Bonaparte,  after  affronting  every  potentate  of  every  dimension 
by  the  rudeness  of  his  nature  and  the  insolence  of  his  domina- 
tion, left  to  every  one  of  them  sufficient  power  to  retaliate. 
Surely,  he  must  have  read  his  Machiavelli  upside-down  !  A 
king  should  never  be  struck  unless  in  a  vital  part.  Cromwell, 
with  many  scruples,  committed  not  this  mistake  ;  Bonaparte, 
with  none,  committed  it.  The  shadow  of  Cromwell's  name 


254  OPINIONS    ON    (LESAR,    ETC. 

overawed  the  most  confident  and  haughty.  He  intimidated 
Holland,  he  humiliated  Spain,  and  he  twisted  the  supple 
Mazarine,  the  ruler  of  France,  about  his  finger.  All  those 
nations  had  then  attained  the  summit  of  their  prosperity ;  all 
were  unfriendly  to  the  rising  power  of  England ;  all  trembled 
at  the  authority  of  that  single  man  who  coerced  at  once  her 
aristocracy,  her  priesthood,  and  her  factions.  No  agent  of 
equal  potency  and  equal  moderation  had  appeared  upon  earth 
before.  He  walked  into  a  den  of  lions,  and  scourged  them 
growling  out;  Bonaparte  was  pushed  into  a  menagerie  of 
monkeys,  and  fainted  at  their  grimaces.  His  brother's  bell 
and  Oudinot's  grenadiers  frightened  them  off  and  saved  him. 
Meteors  look  larger  than  fixed  stars,  and  strike  with  more  ad- 
miration the  beholder.  Those  who  know  not  what  they  are, 
call  them  preternatural.  They  venerate  in  Bonaparte  what 
they  would  ridicule  in  a  gypsy  on  the  roadside,  —  his  lucky  and 
unlucky  days,  his  ruling  star,  his  ascendant.  They  bend  over 
his  emetic  with  gravity,  and  tell  us  that  poison  has  no  power 
over  him.  Nevertheless,  the  very  men  who  owed  their  fortunes 
to  him  found  him  incompetent  to  maintain  them  in  security. 
In  the  whole  of  Europe  there  was  one  single  great  man  op- 
posed to  him,  wanting  all  the  means  of  subsistence  for  an 
army,  and  thwarted  in  all  his  endeavors  by  those  for  whose  lib- 
eration he  fought.  His  bugles  on  the  Pyrenees  dissolved  the 
trance  of  Europe.  He  showed  the  world  that  military  glory 
may  be  intensely  bright  without  the  assumption  of  sovereignty, 
and  that  history  is  best  occupied  with  it  when  she  merely  tran- 
scribes his  orders  and  despatches.  Englishmen  will  always 
prefer  the  true  and  modest  to  the  false  and  meretricious ;  and 
every  experienced  eye  will  estimate  a  Vatican  fresco  more 
highly  than  a  staircase  transparency.  Rudeness,  falsehood, 
malignity,  and  revenge  have  belonged  in  common  to  many 
great  conquerors,  but  never  to  one  great  man.  Cromwell 
had  indulged  in  the  least  vile  of  these ;  but  on  his  assump- 
tion of  power  he  recollected  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  No 
burst  of  rage,  no  sally  of  ribaldry,  no  expression  of  con- 
temptuousness,  was  ever  heard  from  the  Lord  Protector.  He 
could  subdue  or  conciliate  or  spell-bind  the  master-spirits  of 
his  age  ;  but  it  is  a  genius  of  a  far  different  order  that  is  to  seize 
and  hold  futurity :  it  must  be  such  a  genius  as  Shakspeare'.; 


OPINIONS    ON    CJESAR,   ETC.  255 

or  Milton's.  No  sooner  was  Cromwell  in  his  grave,  than  all 
he  had  won  for  himself  and  for  his  country  vanished. 

If  we  must  admire  the  successful,  however  brief  and  hollow  the 
advantages  of  their  success,  our  admiration  is  not  due  to  those 
whose  resources  were  almost  inexhaustible,  and  which  nothing 
but  profligate  imprudence  could  exhaust,  but  to  those  who  re- 
sisted great  forces  with  means  apparently  inadequate,  —  such 
as  Kosciusko  and  Hofer,  Hannibal  and  Sertorius,  Alexander 
and  Caesar,  Charles  of  Sweden  and  Frederick  of  Prussia. 
Above  all  these,  and  indeed  above  all  princes,  stands  high 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  one  of  whose  armies  in  the  space  of  six 
weeks  had  seen  the  estuary  of  the  Elbe  and  the  steeples  of 
Vienna ;  another,  if  a  fever  had  not  wasted  it  on  the  Lake  of 
Como,  would  within  less  time  have  chanted  Luther's  Hymn 
in  St.  Peter's.  But  none  of  these  potentates  had  attempted  the 
downfall  or  the  disgrace  of  England.  Napoleon,  on  the  con- 
trary, stood  at  the  head  of  that  confederacy  whose  orators  were 
consulting  the  interests  of  France  in  the  British  Parliament. 
He  has  left  to  the  most  turbulent  and  unprincipled  of  them  a 
very  memorable  lesson.  The  schoolmaster  is  abroad  in  the 
guise  of  Bonaparte.  He  reminds  them  how,  when  his  hands 
were  full,  they  dropped  what  they  held  by  grasping  at  what 
they  could  not  hold ;  how  he  made  enemies  of  those  who 
might  have  been  neutrals  or  friends ;  how  he  was  driven  out 
by  weaker  men  than  himself;  and  how  he  sank  at  last  the 
unpitied  victim  of  disappointed  ambition.  Lord  Brougham  will 
not  allow  us  to  contemplate  greatness  at  our  leisure ;  he  will 
not  allow  us,  indeed,  to  look  at  it  for  a  moment.  Caesar  must 
be  stripped  of  all  his  laurels  and  left  bald  ;  or  some  rude  soldier, 
with  bemocking  gestures,  must  be  thrust  before  his  triumph. 
If  he  fights,  he  does  not  know  how  to  hold  his  sword  ;  if  he 
speaks,  he  speaks  vile  Latin.  I  wonder  that  Cromwell  fares  no 
better,  if,  signal  as  were  his  earlier  sendees  to  his  country,  he 
lived  a  hypocrite  and  died  a  traitor.  Milton  is  indeed  less 
pardonable.  He  adhered,  through  good  report  and  through 
evil  report  (and  there  was  enough  of  both),  to  those  who  had 
asserted  liberty  of  conscience,  and  who  alone  were  able  to 
maintain  it. 

But  an  angry  cracked  voice  is  now  raised  against  that 
eloquence  — 


256  OPINIONS    ON    CyESAR,    ETC. 

"  Of  which  all  Europe  rang  from  side  to  side." 

I  shall  make  only  a  few  remarks  on  Milton's  English,  and  a 
few  preliminary  on  the  importance  of  style  in  general,  which 
none  understood  better  than  he.  The  greater  part  of  those  who 
are  most  ambitious  of  it  are  unaware  of  all  its  value.  Thought 
does  not  separate  man  from  the  brutes,  —  for  the  brutes  think  ; 
but  man  alone  thinks  beyond  the  moment  and  beyond  himself. 
Speech  does  not  separate  them,  —  for  speech  is  common  to  all 
perhaps,  more  or  less  articulate,  and  conveyed  and  received 
through  different  organs  in  the  lower  and  more  inert.  Man's 
thought,  which  seems  imperishable,  loses  its  form,  and  runs 
along  from  proprietor  to  impropriator,  like  any  other  transitory 
thing,  unless  it  is  invested  so  becomingly  and  nobly  that  no 
successor  can  improve  upon  it  by  any  new  fashion  or  combina- 
tion. For  want  of  dignity  or  beauty,  many  good  things  are 
passed  and  forgotten ;  and  much  ancient  wisdom  is  overrun 
and  hidden  by  a  rampant  verdure,  succulent  but  unsubstantial. 
It  would  be  invidious  to  bring  forward  proofs  of  this  out  of 
authors  in  poetry  and  prose,  now  living  or  lately  dead.  A  dis- 
tinction must,  however,  be  made  between  what  falls  upon  many 
like  rain,  and  what  is  purloined  from  a  cistern  or  a  conduit  be- 
longing to  another  man's  house.  There  are  things  which  were 
another's  before  they  were  ours,  and  are  not  the  less  ours  for 
that ;  not  less  than  my  estate  is  mine  because  it  was  my  grand- 
father's. There  are  features,  there  are  voices,  there  are 
thoughts,  very  similar  in  many ;  and  when  ideas  strike  the 
same  chord  in  any  two  with  the  same  intensity,  the  expression 
must  be  nearly  the  same.  Let  those  who  look  upon  style  as 
unworthy  of  much  attention,  ask  themselves  how  many,  in  pro- 
portion to  men  of  genius,  have  excelled  in  it.  In  all  languages, 
ancient  and  modern,  are  there  ten  prose-writers  at  once  harmo- 
nious, correct,  and  energetic?  Harmony  and  correctness  are 
not  uncommon  separately,  and  force  is  occasionally  with  each ; 
but  where,  excepting  in  Milton,  where,  among  all  the  moderns, 
is  energy  to  be  found  always  in  the  right  place  ?  Even  Cicero 
is  defective  here,  and  sometimes  in  the  most  elaborate  of  his 
orations.  In  the  time  of  Milton  it  was  not  customary  for  men 
of  abilities  to  address  to  the  people  at  large  what  might  inflame 
their  passions ;  the  appeal  was  made  to  the  serious,  to  the 
-.vell-infjrmed,  to  the  learned,  and  was  made  in  the  language  of 


OPINIONS    ON    C^SAR,    ETC. 

their  studies.  The  phraseology  of  our  Bible,  on  which  no  sub- 
sequent age  has  improved,  was  thought  to  carry  with  it  solem- 
nity and  authority ;  and  even  when  popular  feelings  were  to  be 
aroused  to  popular  interests,  the  language  of  the  prophets  was 
preferred  to  the  language  of  the  vulgar.  Hence,  amid  the  com- 
plicated antagonisms  of  war  there  was  more  austerity  than  fe- 
rocity. The  gentlemen  who  attended  the  court  avoided  the 
speech  as  they  avoided  the  manners  of  their  adversaries. 
Waller,  Cowley,  and  South  were  resolved  to  refine  what  was 
already  pure  gold,  and  inadvertently  threw  into  the  crucible 
many  old  family  jewels,  deeply  enchased  within  it.  Eliot,  Pym, 
Selden,  and  Milton  reverenced  their  father's  house,  and  retained 
its  rich  language  unmodified.  Lord  Brougham  would  make  us 
believe  that  scarcely  a  sentence  in  Milton  is  easy,  natural,  and 
vernacular.  Nevertheless,  in  all  his  dissertations  there  are 
many  which  might  appear  to  have  been  written  in  our  days,  if 
indeed  any  writer  in  our  days  were  endowed  with  the  same 
might  and  majesty.  Even  in  his  "  Treatise  on  Divorce,"  where 
the  Bible  was  most  open  to  him  for  quotations,  and  where  he 
might  be  the  most  expected  to  recur  to  the  grave  and  anti- 
quated, he  has  often  employed,  in  the  midst  of  theological 
questions  and  juridical  formularies,  the  plainest  terms  of  his 
contemporaries.  Even  his  arguments  against  prelacy,  where 
he  rises  into  poetry  like  the  old  prophets,  and  where  his  ardent 
words  assume  in  their  periphery  the  rounded  form  of  verse, 
there  is  nothing  stiff  or  constrained.  I  remember  a  glorious 
proof  of  this  remark,  which  I  believe  I  have  quoted  before,  but 
no  time  is  lost  by  reading  it  twice  :  — 

"  —  But  when  God  commands  to  take  the  trumpet, 
And  blow  a  dolorous  or  thrilling  blast, 
It  rests  not  with  man's  will  what  he  shall  say, 
Or  what  he  shall  conceal." 

Was  ever  anything  more  like  the  inspiration  it  refers  to  ?  Where 
is  the  harshness  in  it ;  where  is  the  inversion  ? 

The  style  usually  follows  the  conformation  of  the  mind. 
Solemnity  and  stateliness  are  Milton's  chief  characteristics. 
Nothing  is  less  solemn,  less  stately,  less  composed,  or  less 
equable  than  Lord  Brougham's.  When  he  is  most  vivacious, 
he  shows  it  by  twitches  of  sarcasm ;  and  when  he  springs 
highest,  it  is  from  agony.  He  might  have  improved  his  man- 

'7 


258  INSCRIPTION    FOR   A    STATUE   AT   ST.    IVES. 

ner  by  recurring  to  Shaftesbury  and  Bolingbroke,  equally  dis- 
contented politicians  ;  but  there  was  something  of  high  breeding 
in  their  attacks,  and  more  of  the  rapier  than  of  the  bludgeon. 
Brougham  found  their  society  uncongenial  to  him,  and  trundled 
home  in  preference  the  sour  quarter-cask  of  Smollett.  Many 
acrid  plants  throw  out  specious  and  showy  flowers ;  few  of  these 
are  to  be  found  in  his  garden.  What  then  has  he  ?  I  will  tell 
you  what  he  has,  —  more  various  and  greater  talents  than  any 
other  man  ever  was  adorned  with,  who  had  nothing  of  genius 
and  little  of  discretion.  He  has  exhibited  a  clear  compendious 
proof  that  a  work  of  extraordinary  fiction  may  be  elaborated 
in  the  utter  penury  of  all  those  qualities  which  we  usually 
assign  to  imagination.  Between  the  language  of  Milton  and 
Brougham  there  is  as  much  difference  as  between  an  organ 
and  a  bagpipe.  One  of  these  instruments  fills,  and  makes  to 
vibrate,  the  amplest,  the  loftiest,  the  most  venerable  edifices, 
and  accords  with  all  that  is  magnificent  and  holy ;  the  other  is 
followed  by  vile  animals  in  fantastical  dresses  and  antic  ges- 
tures, and  surrounded  by  the  clamorous  and  disorderly. 


II.    INSCRIPTION    FOR   A   STATUE   AT   ST.    IVES. 

OLIVER   CROMWELL, 

a  good  son,  a  good  husband,  a  good  father, 

a  good  citizen,  a  good  ruler 

both  in  war  and  peace, 

was  born  in  this  town. 

To  know  his  publick  acts, 

open  the  History  of  England, 

where  it  exhibits  in  few  pages 

(alas  too  few  !) 
the  title  of  Commonwealth. 


III.     SIR   ROBERT   PEEL,   AND   MONUMENTS  TO 
PUBLIC    MEN. 

STATUES  are  now  rising  in  every  quarter  of  our  metropolis, 
and  mallet  and  chisel  are  the  chief  instruments  in  use.  What- 
ever is  conducive  to  the  promotion  of  the  arts  ought  undoubt- 
edly to  be  encouraged  ;  but  love  in  this  instance,  quite  as  much 
as  in  any,  ought  neither  to  be  precipitate  nor  blind.  A  true 
lover  of  his  country  should  be  exempted  from  the  pain  of 
blushes  when  a  foreigner  inquires  of  him,  "  Whom  does  this 
statue  represent;  and  for  what  merits  was  it  raised?"  The 
defenders  of  their  country,  not  the  dismemberers  of  it,  should 
be  first  in  honor ;  the  maintainers  of  the  laws,  not  the  sub- 
verters  of  them,  should  follow  next.  I  may  be  asked  by  the 
studious,  the  contemplative,  the  pacific,  whether  I  would  assign 
a  higher  station  to  any  public  man  than  to  a  Milton  and  a 
Newton.  My  answer  is  plainly  and  loudly,  Yes  !  But  the 
higher  station  should  be  in  streets,  in  squares,  in  Houses  of 
Parliament,  —  such  are  their  places :  our  vestibules  and  our 
libraries  are  best  adorned  by  poets,  philosophers,  and  philan- 
thropists. There  is  a  feeling  which  street-walking  and  public- 
meeting  men  improperly  call  "  loyalty  ;  "  a  feeling  intemperate 
and  intolerant,  smelling  of  dinner  and  wine  and  toasts,  which 
swells  their  stomachs  and  their  voices  at  the  sound  of  certain 
names  reverberated  by  the  newspaper  press.  As  little  do  they 
know  about  the  proprietary  of  these  names  as  pot-wallopers 
know  about  the  candidates  at  a  borough  election,  and  are  just 
as  vociferous  and  violent.  A  few  days  ago  I  received  a  most 
courteous  invitation  to  be  named  on  a  committee  for  erecting 
a  statue  to  Jenner.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  decline  it ; 
and  equally  was  it  impossible  to  abstain  from  the  observations 
which  I  am  now  about  to  state.  I  recommended  that  the 
statue  should  be  placed  before  a  public  hospital,  expressing 
my  sense  of  impropriety  in  confounding  so  great  a  benefactor 


26O   ROBERT  PEEL,  AND  MONUMENTS  TO  PUBLIC  MEN. 

of  mankind,  in  any  street  or  square  or  avenue,  with  the  Dis- 
memberer of  America  and  his  worthless  sons.  Nor  would1 1 
willingly  see  him  among  the  worn-out  steam-engines  of  par- 
liamentary debates.  The  noblest  parliamentary  men  who  had 
nothing  to  distribute,  not  being  ministers,  are  without  statues. 
The  illustrious  Burke,  the  wisest,  excepting  Bacon,  who  at  any 
time  sat  within  the  people's  house ;  Romilly,  the  syicerest 
patriot  of  his  day ;  Huskisson,  the  most  intelligent  in  commer- 
cial affairs,  —  have  none.  Peel  has  become  popular,  not  by  his 
incomparable  merits,  but  by  his  untimely  death.  Shall  we  never 
see  the  day  when  Oliver  and  William  mount  the  chargers  of 
Charles  and  George,  and  when  a  royal  swindler  is  superseded 
by  the  purest  and  most  exalted  of  our  heroes,  Blake  ? 

Now  the  fever  hath  somewhat  subsided  which  came  over  the 
people  from  the  grave  of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  there  is  room  for  a 
few  observations  on  his  decease  and  on  its  consequences.  All 
public  writers,  I  believe,  have  expatiated  on  his  character,  com- 
paring him  with  others  who  within  our  times  have  occupied 
the  same  position.  My  own  opinion  has  invariably  been  that 
he  was  the  wisest  of  all  our  statesmen ;  and  certainly,  though 
he  found  reason  to  change  his  sentiments  and  his  measures, 
he  changed  them  honestly,  well  weighed,  always  from  convic- 
tion, and  always  for  the  better.  He  has  been  compared,  and 
seemingly  in  no  spirit  of  hostility  or  derision,  with  a  Castle- 
reagh,  a  Perceval,  an  Addington,  a  Canning.  Only  one  of 
these  is  worthy  of  notice ;  namely,  Canning,  whose  brilliancy 
made  his  shallowness  less  visible,  and  whose  graces  of  style 
and  elocution  threw  a  veil  over  his  unsoundness  and  lubricity. 
Sir  Robert  Peel  was  no  satirist  or  epigrammatist,  —  he  was  only 
a  statesman  in  public  life,  only  a  virtuous  and  friendly  man  in 
private;  par  negotiis,  nee  supra.  Walpole  alone  possessed 
his  talents  for  business.  But  neither  Peel  nor  his  family  were 
enriched  from  the  spoils  of  his  country;  Walpole  spent  in 
building  and  pictures  more  than  double  the  value  of  his  he- 
reditary estate,  and  left  the  quadruple  to  his  descendants. 

Dissimilar  from  Walpole,  and  from  commoner  and  coarser 
men  who  occupied  the  same  office,  Peel  forbade  that  a  name 
which  he  had  made  illustrious  should  be  degraded  and  stigma- 
tized by  any  title  of  nobility ;  for  he  knew  that  all  those  titles 


ROBERT  PEEL,  AND  MONUMENTS  TO  PUBLIC  MEN.   26l 

had  their  origin  and  nomenclature  from  military  services,  and 
belong  to  military  men,  like  their  'epaulets  and  spurs  and 
chargers.  They  sound  well  enough  against  the  sword  and  hel- 
met, strangely  in  law-courts  and  cathedrals ;  but  reformer  as 
he  was,  he  could  not  reform  all  this,  —  he  could  only  keep 
clear  of  it  in  his  own  person. 

I  now  come  to  the  main  object  of  my  letter. 

Subscriptions  are  advertised  for  the  purpose  of  raising 
monuments  to  Sir  Robert  Peel,  and  a  motion  has  been  made 
in  Parliament  for  one  in  Westminster  Abbey  at  the  public  ex- 
pense. Whatever  may  be  the  precedents,  surely  the  house  of 
God  should  contain  no  object  but  such  as  may  remind  us  of 
His  presence  and  our  duty  to  Him.  Long  ago  I  proposed 
that  ranges  of  statues  and  busts  should  commemorate  the  great 
worthies  of  our  country.  All  the  lower  parts  of  our  National 
Gallery  might  be  laid  open  for  this  purpose.  Even  the  best 
monuments  in  Westminster  Abbey  and  St.  Paul's  are  deform- 
ities to  the  edifice.  Let  us  not  continue  this  disgrace.  De- 
ficient as  we  are  in  architects,  we  have  many  good  statuaries, 
and  we  might  well  employ  them  on  the  .statues  of  illustrious 
commanders  and  the  busts  of  illustrious  statesmen  and  writers. 
Meanwhile  our  cities,  and  especially  the  commercial,  would,  I 
am  convinced,  act  more  wisely,  and  more  satisfactorily  to  the 
relict  of  the  deceased,  if  instead  of  statues  they  erected 
schools  and  almshouses,  with  an  inscription  to  his  memory. 

We  glory  in  about  sixty  whose  busts  and  statues  may  occupy 
what  are  now  the  "  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells "  in  our 
National  Gallery.  Our  literary  men  of  eminence  are  happily 
more  numerous  than  the  political  or  the  warlike,  or  both 
together.  There  is  only  one  class  of  them  which  might  be 
advantageously  excluded,  namely,  the  theological ;  and  my 
reasons  are  these.  First,  their  great  talents  were  chiefly  em- 
ployed on  controversy ;  secondly,  and  consequently,  their 
images  would  excite  dogmatical  discord,  every  sect  of  the 
Anglican  Church  and  every  class  of  Dissenters  complaining  of 
undue  preferences.  Painture  and  sculpture  lived  in  the  midst 
of  corruption,  lived  throughout  it,  and  seemed  indeed  to  draw 
vitality  from  it,  as  flowers  the  most  delicate  from  noxious  air ; 
but  they  collapsed  at  the  searching  breath  of  free  inquiry,  and 
could  not  abide  persecution.  The  torch  of  philosophy  never 


262       ROBERT    PEEL,    AND    MONUMENTS    TO    PUBLIC    MEN. 

kindled  the  suffocating  fagot,  under  whose  smoke  Theology 
was  mistaken  for  Religion.  Theology  had,  until  now,  been 
speculative  and  quiescent ;  she  abandoned  to  Philosophy  these 
humbler  qualities :  instead  of  allaying  and  dissipating,  as 
Philosophy  had  always  done,  she  excited  and  she  directed 
animosities.  Oriental  in  her  parentage,  and  keeping  up  her 
wide  connections  in  that  country,  she  acquired  there  all  the 
artifices  most  necessary  to  the  furtherance  of  her  designs : 
among  the  rest  was  ventriloquism,  which  she  quite  perfected, 
making  her  words  seem  to  sound  from  above  and  from  below 
and  from  every  side  around.  Ultimately,  when  men  had 
fallen  on  their  faces  at  this  miracle,  she  assumed  the  supreme 
power.  Kings  were  her  lackeys,  and  nations  the  dust  under 
her  palfrey's  hoof.  By  her  sentence  Truth  was  gagged, 
scourged,  branded,  cast  down  on  the  earth  in  manacles ;  and 
Fortitude,  who  had  stood  at  Truth's  side,  was  fastened  with 
nails  and  pulleys  to  the  stake.  I  would  not  revive  by  any 
images,  in  the  abode  of  the  graceful  and  the  gentle  Arts,  these 
sorrowful  reminiscences.  The  vicissitudes  of  the  world  appear 
to  be  bringing  round  again  the  spectral  past.  Let  us  place 
great  men  between  it  and  ourselves,  —  they  are  all  tutelar ;  not 
the  warrior  and  the  statesman  only ;  not  only  the  philosopher : 
but  also  the  historian  who  follows  them  step  by  step,  and  the 
poet  who  secures  us  from  peril  and  dejection  by  his  counter- 
charm.  Philosophers  in  most  places  are  unwelcome ;  but  there 
is  no  better  reason  why  Shaftesbury  and  Hobbes  should  be 
excluded  from  our  gallery  than  why  Epicurus  should  have  been 
from  Cicero's,  or  Zeno  from  Lucullus's. 

Of  our  sovereigns,  I  think  Alfred,  Cromwell,  and  William  III. 
alone  are  eligible  ;  and  they,  because  they  opposed  successfully 
the  subverters  of  the  laws.  Three  viceroys  of  Ireland  will 
deservedly  be  placed  in  the  same  receptacle,  —  Sir  John  Perrot, 
Lord  Chesterfield,  and  (in  due  time)  the  last  lord-deputy; 
one  Speaker,  one  only,  of  the  Parliament,  —  he  without  whom 
no  Parliament  would  be  now  existing ;  he  who  declared  to 
Henry  IV.  that  until  all  public  grievances  were  removed,  no 
subsidy  should  be  granted.,  The  name  of  this  Speaker  may  be 
found  in  Rapin.  English  historians  talk  about  facts,  forgetting 
men. 

Admirals    and    generals    are    numerous    and    conspicuous. 


ROBERT  PEEL,  AND  MONUMENTS  TO  PUBLIC  MEN.   263 

Drake,  Blake,  Rodney,  Jervis,  Nelson,  Collingwood ;  the  sub- 
duer  of  Algiers  beaten  down  for  the  French  to  occupy ;  and 
the  defender  of  Acre,  the  first  who  defeated,  discomfited, 
routed,  broke,  and  threw  into  shameful  flight  Bonaparte. 
Our  generals  are  Marlborough,  Peterborough,  Wellington,  and 
that  successor  to  his  fame  in  India  who  established  the  empire 
that  was  falling  from  us,  who  achieved  in  a  few  days  two  ar- 
duous victories,  who  never  failed  in  any  enterprise,  who  accom- 
plished the  most  difficult  with  the  smallest  expenditure  of 
blood,  who  corrected  the  disorders  of  the  military,  who  gave 
the  soldier  an  example  of  temperance,  the  civilian  of  simplicity 
and  frugality,  and  whose  sole  (but  exceedingly  great)  reward 
was  the  approbation  of  our  greatest  men. 

With  these  come  the  statesmen  of  the  Commonwealth,  the 
students  of  Bacon,  the  readers  of  Philip  Sidney,  the  companions 
of  Algernon,  the  precursors  of  Locke  and  Newton.  Opposite 
to  them  are  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakspeare,  Milton ;  lower  in 
dignity,  Dryden,  Pope,  Gray,  Goldsmith,  Cowper,  Keats,  Scott, 
Burns,  Shelley,  Southey,  Byron,  Wordsworth  ;  the  author  of 
"  Hohenlinden "  and  the  "Battle  of  the  Baltic;"  and  the 
glorious  woman  who  equalled  these  two  animated  works  in  her 
"  Ivan "  and  "  Casabianca."  Historians  have  but  recently 
risen  up  among  us ;  and  long  be  it  before,  by  command  of 
Parliament,  the  chisel  grates  on  the  brow  of  a  Napier,  a  Grote, 
and  a  Macaulay ! 


IV.     TO   CORNELIUS   AT   MUNICH. 

ON  coming  to  England,  and  on  looking  at  the  Cartoons  ex- 
hibited for  decorating  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  you  will  won- 
der, Cornelius,  that  the  most  important  facts  and  most  illus- 
trious men  have  been  overlooked.  The  English  are  certainly 
less  sensitive  to  national  glory  than  to  party  politics,  to  past 
achievements  than  to  passing  celebrity.  Wilkes  excited  more 
enthusiasm  than  Hampden.  It  appears  to  be  certain  that  the 
Protector  Cromwell  will  be  expunged  from  the  pictorial  history 
of  the  nation,  —  of  that  nation  which  he  raised  to  the  summit 
of  political  power.  It  is  contended  that  he  usurped  his  au- 
thority. We  will  not  argue  the  point,  nor  take  the  trouble  to 
demonstrate  that  the  greatest  and  best  princes  in  many  coun- 
tries have  been  usurpers.  Without  great  services  none  of 
them  could  ever  have  been  invested  with  sufficient  power  to 
assume  the  first  dignity  of  the  State.  William  of  Normandy 
was  manifestly  a  usurper;  and  if  breaking  the  direct  line  of 
succession  is  usurpation,  so  was  William  the  Third.  Henry 
the  Fourth  and  Henry  the  Seventh  were  usurpers  also,  yet  their 
reigns  were  signally  beneficial  to  their  people.  And  to  Rich- 
ard the  Third,  whatever  may  have  been  his  crimes  in  the  as- 
cent to  sovereignty,  the  nation  at  large  is  perhaps  more  in- 
debted for  provident  statutes  of  perdurable  good  than  to  any 
other  of  her  kings.  But  the  glory  of  them  all  is  cast  into  ob- 
scurity by  Cromwell.  He  humbled  in  succession  the  dominant 
powers  of  Europe,  at  a  time  when  they  were  governed  by  the 
ablest  men  and  had  risen  to  the  zenith  of  their  prosperity. 
Spain,  France,  Holland,  crouched  before  him ;  and  the  soldiers 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  greatest  king  the  world  ever  beheld, 
thought  he  had  risen  from  the  grave  to  accomplish  the  delivery 
of  nations.  For  how  little,  in  comparison,  is  France  indebted 
to  Napoleon  !  Yet  both  king  and  people  are  united  in  raising 


TO    CORNELIUS    AT    MUNICH.  265 

a  monument  to  his  memory.  Compare  the  posthumous 
honors  conferred  by  the  two  great  nations  on  the  two  great 
men.  The  body  of  the  one  is  brought  back  from  the  extremi- 
ties of  the  ocean,  to  be  venerated  by  a  people  he  had  reduced 
to  servitude ;  the  body  of  the  other  was  treated  as  the  vilest 
malefactor's,  in  the  midst  of  a  nation  he  had  vindicated  from 
double  slavery,  —  the  slavery ,  of  a  lawless  prince  and  an  in- 
tolerant priesthood.  It  is  enough  for  Frenchmen  that  Napo- 
leon had  once  humbled  the  enemies  of  France.  We,  who 
judge  more  calmly,  judge  that  whatever  he  did  was  done  for 
the  advancement  of  his  power  and  the  perpetuation  of  his 
dynasty.  He  had  the  quickest  and  the  shortest  sight  of  all 
men  living,  and  his  arrogance  brought  into  France  the  nations 
that  subdued  her.  Different  in  all  these  points  was  Oliver. 
Never  was  man  more  bravely  humane  or  more  tranquilly  ener- 
getic. He  stood  above  fear,  above  jealousy,  above  power ;  he 
was  greater  than  all  things  but  his  country. 

The  English  are  erecting  a  column  and  statue  to  Nelson. 
No  such  monument  has  been  raised  to  Blake,  because  he 
fought  for  a  country  without  a  king  at  the  head  of  it.  This 
courageous  and  virtuous  man  abstained  from  party  and  from 
politics,  and  would  have  defended  his  country  even  under  the 
king  who  sold  her.  No  action  of  Nelson  himself  is  more 
glorious  than  the  action  of  Blake  at  Cadiz,  and  his  character 
on  every  side  is  without  a  stain ;  but  in  England  the  authorities 
and  the  Arts  neglect  him. 

"  Caret  quia  rege  sacro." 

In  the  list  of  the  committee  which  is  to  decide  on  fit  sub- 
jects for  painting  the  Houses  of  Parliament  you  will  find  the 
name  of  Eastlake,  a  good  painter  and  a  good  scholar ;  and  of 
Rogers,  endowed  with  every  quality  of  a  gentleman,  and  with 
an  exquisite  judgment  in  everything  relating  to  literature  and 
the  fine  arts.  Yet  I  doubt  if  either  of  them  would  not  prefer 
an  allegory  in  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  or  a  witchery  in  "  Faust," 
for  a  decoration  of  the  Chambers,  if  highly  picturesque,  to  the 
most  appropriate  scene  in  parliamentary  annals  if  less  so. 
English  history,  in  fact,  is  now  represented  without  living 
figures,  and  worked  by  machinery.  We  see  the  events,  and 
wonder  where  are  the  actors.  The  later  historians  keep  then? 


266  TO    CORNELIUS    AT    MUNICH. 

carefully  out  of  sight,  and  make  their  own  voices  suffice  for  all 
within  the  boxes  they  exhibit. 

The  histories  of  other  nations  are  alive  with  human  agents  ; 
the  earth  moves  and  heaves  with  their  energies;  we  see  not 
only  the  work  they  have  done,  but  we  see  them  doing  it. 
Whereas,  in  our  own  sandy  deserts,  the  only  things  astir  are 
small  animals  intent  on  their  burrows,  or  striving  to  possess  a 
knot  of  fresh  herbage.  All  beyond  is  indistinct :  if  ever  we 
come  to  it,  we  find  only  scanty  eminences,  under  which  are 
evanescent  features  and  weightless  bones;  we  trample  them 
down,  and  walk  back  again. 


V.     THE   QUARTERLY   REVIEW. 

THE  "  Quarterly  Review"  for  December,  1849,  was  shown 
to  me  this  morning,  for  the  sake  of  a  note  on  page  130.  A 
reviewer  comes  valiantly  forth  in  his  obscurity,  and  strikes  at 
me  in  the  bottom  of  a  page,  without  provocation  and  with- 
out aim.  Nothing  of  mine  was  in  question ;  the  subject  was 
utterly  remote.  Rabid  animals  run  straight  —  could  not  this  ? 
Is  he  blind?  Apparently.  The  "Quarterly"  would  prolong 
its  painful  struggles  for  existence  by  clinging  to  my  name. 

Speaking  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  Dispatches,  the 
reviewer  observes  :  "  When  French  people  could  not  resist  the 
evidence  of  all  great  gifts  and  noble  qualities  with  which  that 
record  was  filled ;  when  they  owned  that  it  would  not  do  to 
persist  in  their  old  vein  of  disparagement  now  the  world  had 
before  it  that  series  of  writings  in  which  it  was  impossible  to 
say  whether  one  should  admire  most,  the  range  of  knowledge, 
reflection,  sense,  and  wisdom,  or  the  unaffected  display  of 
every  manly,  modest,  and  human  feeling  under  an  almost 
infinite  variety  of  circumstances,  and  all  conveyed  in  language 
of  such  inimitable  simplicity,  so  thoroughly  the  style  becoming 
a  captain  and  statesman  of  the  most  illustrious  class,  —  when 
this  was  the  result  in  France,  the  home  faction  saw  it  was  time 
to  consider  the  matter,  and  they  undoubtedly  showed,  and 
have  continued  to  show,  proper  signs  of  repentance.  The 
exceptions  are  very  few.  Here  in  England  we  know  of  none 
at  all  in  what  can  be  called  society ;  of  none  in  the  periodical 
press,  beyond  its  very  lowest  disgraces.  Among  authors,"  etc. 

It  would  be  well  if  the  writer  of  this  verbose  and  rambling 
note  had  attempted,  at  least,  the  "  inimitable  simplicity  "  which 
he  has  been  taught  by  some  wiser  authority  to  commend.  No 
man  ever  praised  more  unreservedly  or  more  heartily  the  Duke 
of  Wellington's  style,  honesty,  wisdom,  and  achievements  than 
I  have  always  done  ;  and  though  his  Grace  may  care  little  for 


268  THE    QUARTERLY    REVIEW. 

such  commendations,  he  will  probably,  if  ever  he  hears  of 
them,  set  them  somewhere  apart  from  the  "  Quarterly " 
reviewers. 

The  reviewer  proceeds  to  number  me  among  the  home  fac- 
tion. Certainly  I  never  was  "  at  home  "  in  it,  and  never  knew 
where  its  home  was.  I  never  was  at  a  public  dinner,  at  a 
club,  or  hustings ;  I  never  influenced  or  attempted  to  influence 
a  vote,  yet  many  (and  not  only  of  my  own  tenants)  have 
asked  me  to  whom  they  should  give  theirs.  If  the  reviewer  is 
desirous  of  obtaining  any  favor  from  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
let  me  assure  him  that  the  safest  way  is  by  descending  from 
flattery  to  truth.  Even  the  duke  (as  future  ages,  like  the 
present,  will  call  him)  could  not  make  his  actions  greater  than 
they  are ;  they  can  only  be  diminished,  as  the  steps  of  holy 
places,  by  the  grovelling  knees  and  importunate  kisses  of 
fanatic  worshippers.  When  I  commend  the  conciseness,  the 
manliness,  the  purity  of  the  duke's  style,  it  is  not,  as  it  must 
be  in  the  reviewer,  from  hearsay  and  tradition.  Let  him  also 
be  taught,  and  repeat  with  less  ostentation  and  more  rev- 
erence, that  far  above  the  faded  flowers  wherewith  his  puny 
hands  have  bestrewn  the  great  man's  road,  our  deliverer  has 
confirmed  the  religious  (more  than  all  the  theologians  in  the 
country)  in  the  belief  that  there  is  a  superintending  and  a  rul- 
ing Power,  under  which,  and  by  whose  especial  guidance,  a 
single  arm  can  scatter  myriads  of  the  powerful,  and  raise  up 
prostrate  nations. 

I  must  now  mount  again  the  "  bad  eminence  "  on  which  it 
hath  pleased  this  gentleman  to  place  me.  "  Among  authors  of . 
books  of  any  sort  of  note,"  he  continues,  "  verse  or  prose,  we 
recollect  of  none,  unless  Mr.  W.  Savage  Landor,  who  however 
clings  with  equal  pertinacity  to  his  ancient  abuse  of  Bonaparte 
as  a  '  blockhead  and  a  coward,'  of  Byron  as  a  '  rhymer  wholly 
devoid  of  genius  or  wit,'  of  Pitt  as  a  '  villain,'  of  Fox  as  a 
'  scoundrel,'  of  Canning  as  a  '  scamp,'  and  so  on." 

Now,  I  appeal  to  you  and  to  every  man  who,  however  negli- 
gently or  however  malignantly,  has  read  my  writings,  whether 
my  education  and  habits  of  life  have  permitted  me  such  lan- 
guage. It  is  such  as  no  gentleman  could  either  have  used  or 
have  attributed  to  another.  Even  if  the  phrases  were  reduced 
to  synonymes  of  more  decorum,  the  falsehood  of  the  statement 


THE    QUARTERLY    REVIEW.  269 

would  remain.  I  have  never  called  Bonaparte  a  "  blockhead" 
or  a  "  coward."  I  would  not  call  by  such  a  name  even  the 
writer  of  this  criticism.  Bonaparte  committed  many  gross 
errors,  some  in  polity,  some  in  war,  —  greater  indeed  and 
more  numerous  than  any  leader  of  equal  eminence.  He  lost 
three  great  armies ;  he  abandoned  three  in  defeat. 

It  is  curious  that  the  "  Quarterly  Review "  should  rail 
against  my  opinion  on  Bonaparte,  when  the  only  man  of 
genius  connected  with  it,  Southey,  far  exceeded  me  in  hostility 
to  that  sanguinary  and  selfish  despot.  His  laws  against  the 
press  were  more  numerous  and  more  stringent  than  ever  had 
existed  in  any  country,  and  alienated  from  him  every  true 
friend  of  liberty  and  letters.  His  cruelty  to  Toussaint  L'Ou- 
verture  (omitting  an  infinitude  of  others)  was  such  as  Charles 
IX.  would  have  discountenanced,  and  such  as  could  hardly 
have  been  perpetrated  by  his  compatriot  Eccellino.  His  mis- 
calculations in  Syria,  in  Egypt,  in  Spain,  in  Germany,  in  Russia, 
where  an  open  road  to  conquest  lay  before  him  along  the 
Baltic,  will  supplant  in  another  age  the  enthusiasm  that  now 
supports  him.  It  is  singular  that  a  "  Quarterly "  reviewer 
should  assail  me  for  joining  all  his  leaders  in  hostility  to  this 
destroyer ;  and  scarcely  is  it  less  so  that  I  should  continue  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  many  the  most  prominent  of  his  ad- 
mirers. Throughout  life  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  enjoy 
the  unbroken  and  unaltered  friendship  of  virtuous  and  illus- 
trious men  whose  political  opinions  have  been  adverse.  If  it 
is  any  honor,  it  has  been  conferred  on  me  to  have  received 
from  Napoleon's  heir  the  literary  work  he  composed  in  prison, 
well  knowing  as  he  did,  and  expressing  his  regret  for,  my 
sentiments  on  his  uncle.  The  explosion  of  the  first  cannon 
against  Rome  threw  us  apart  forever. 

Of  Byron  I  never  have  spoken  as  a  "  mere  rhymer ;  "  I  never 
have  represented  him  as  destitute  of  genius  or  of  wit.  He  had 
much  of  both,  with  much  energy,  not  always  well  applied. 
Lord  Malmesbury  has  informed  us  that  Mr.  Pitt  entered  into 
the  war  against  France  contrary  to  his  own  opinion,  to  gratify 
the  king.  If  so,  the  word  "  villain  "  would  carry  with  it  too 
feeble  a  sound  for  me  to  employ  it  even  in  the  company  of 
such  persons  as  my  critic,  supposing  me  ever  to  have  been 
conversant  in  such.  My  intimacy  with  the  friends  and  near 


2/O  THE    QUARTERLY    REVIEW. 

relatives  of  Mr.  Fox  would  have  certainly  closed  my  lips 
against  the  utterance  of  the  appellation  of"  scoundrel "  in  regard 
to  him.  He  had  more  and  warmer  friends  than  any  statesman 
upon  record  ;  he  was  ingenuous,  liberal,  learned,  philosophical ; 
he  was  the  delight  of  social  life,  the  ornament  of  domestic. 
Mr.  Fox  was  a  man  of  genius,  and  (what  in  the  present  day  is 
almost  as  rare)  a  gentleman.  Specimens  of  either  character 
may  never  have  fallen  in  the  reviewer's  way;  and  if  perad- 
venture  they  should  have,  probably  it  was  not  very  closely,  and 
his  inexperience  may  easily  have  mistaken  them.  Reverence 
for  the  unknown,  or  for  the  dimly  seen,  may  indeed  be  com- 
mon to  the  vulgar;  but  here  is  an  instance  that  it  is  by  no 
means  universal. 

Mr.  Canning  was  a  graceful  writer  both  in  poetry  and  prose ; 
he  had  also  the  gift  of  eloquence  in  debate.  His  conduct 
toward  his  colleague  in  the  Administration  lost  him  all  his 
popularity,  which  was  not  recovered  by  his  asking  an  office 
from  the  minister  he  had  traduced  and  fought.  The  word 
"  scamp  "  was  applied  to  Mr.  Canning  by  the  late  Lord  Yar- 
mouth, who  certainly  ought  to  have  known  its  full  signification. 
It  was  on  the  morning  when,  second  to  Lord  Castlereagh,  he 
saved  Mr.  Canning's  life,  desiring  his  cousin  to  give  "  the 
scamp  a  chance  "  by  taking  into  the  field,  not  his  own  well- 
tried  pistols,  but  those  which  Lord  Yarmouth  had  brought  with 
him  and  laid  upon  the  table.  This  account  I  received  from 
the  only  other  person  then  present,  and  now  living.  But  what- 
ever I  may  continue  to  think  of  Mr.  Canning,  I  prefer  a  phrase- 
ology somewhat  circuitous  to  a  monosyllable  better  adapted  to 
the  style  and  temper  of  the  reviewer  than  to  mine. 

Few  writers  have  been  less  obnoxious  to  rudeness  and 
impertinence  than  I  have  been ;  and  I  should  abstain  from 
noticing  them  now,  had  they  been  unaccompanied  by  a  mis- 
representation of  my  manners  and  a  forgery  of  my  words. 
These  are  grave  offences,  such  as  public  justice  takes  out  of 
private  hands.  I  remember  a  fable  of  Phaedrus,  in  which  a 
mischievous  youth  cast  a  pebble  at  a  quiet  wayfarer,  who,  in- 
stead of  resentment  or  remonstrance,  advises  him  to  perform 
the  same  exploit  on  a  dignitary  then  coming  up.  I  am  quieter 
than  the  dignitary,  and  even  than  the  quiet  man.  Instead  of 
sending  to  the  cross  or  to  the  whipping-post  the  mischievous 


THE    QUARTERLY    REVIEW.  2/1 

youth  who  passes  over  the  road  to  cast  his  pebble  at  me,  al- 
though I  might  not  perhaps  beg  him  off  from  the  latter  inflic- 
tions, I  would  entreat  his  employer,  the  moment  I  could  learn 
the  editor's  name,  to  continue  the  payment  of  his  wages,  and 
to  throw  in  an  additional  trifle  for  his  (however  ill-directed) 
originality.  I  suspect  he  will  neither  be  so  graceful  nor  so 
proud  as  he  might  be  on  obtaining  this  notice.  Could  he 
have  hoped  it?  But  thus  is  extracted  from  the  dryest  and 
hardest  lichen  in  the  coldest  regions,  where  men  are  the  most 
diminutive,  a  nutritious  sustenance  often  remedial  in  a  low 
disease. 


VI.    A   STORY   OF   SANTANDER. 

DON  Luis  CABEZA-DE-MORO  was  a  widower,  with  two  sons, 
Antonio  and  Ignacio.  His  younger  brother,  named  also  Ig- 
nacio,  had  married  a  rich  heiress  in  the  island  of  Cuba,  —  both 
of  whom  died,  leaving  an  only  daughter,  seven  years  old,  to  the 
guardianship  of  Don  Luis,  and  intimating  a  wish,  and  providing 
by  will  and  testament,  that  Ines  in  due  time  should  espouse  her 
cousin  Ignacio. 

Don  Luis  was  rejoiced  at  the  injunction,  —  for  he  disliked 
his  elder  son  from  the  cradle.  This  was  remarkable,  especially 
as  his  lady,  the  Dona  Pedrila,  had  continued  long  without  off- 
spring, and  Antonio  was  her  first-born ;  besides  which,  there 
were  mysteries  and  signs  and  tokens  such  as  ought  to  have 
taught  him  better.  His  whole  household  were  amazed  and 
edified  and  awed  at  the  result  of  supplications  which,  after 
four  years  of  fruitless  marriage,  had  produced  this  blessing; 
and  the  "  Moor's  head,"  the  blazon  of  the  family,  was  displayed 
by  them  with  greater  pride  than  ever  in  the  balcony  of  the 
ancient  mansion-house.  About  a  year  before  this  event,  an 
Irish  ensign  had  entered  the  service  of  Spain.  Leave  of  ab- 
sence was  given  him  to  visit  his  maternal  uncle,  the  dean  of 
Santander,  near  which  city  was  the  residence  of  Don  Luis. 
Subsequently,  Dona  Pedrila  saw  him  so  often,  and  was  so  im- 
pressed by  his  appearance,  that  it  was  reported  in  the  family, 
and  the  report  was  by  no  means  discouraged  by  the  dean,  that 
Ensign  Lucius  O'Donnell,  now  entitled  Don  Lucio,  had  been 
dreamt  of  by  Dona  Pedrila,  not  once  only,  or  occasionally,  but 
on  the  three  successive  vigils  of  the  three  glorious  saints  who 
were  more  especially  the  patrons  of  the  house.  Under  the  im- 
pression of  these  dreams,  there  was  a  wonderful  likeness  of  the 
infant  to  Don  Lucio,  which  Don  Luis  was  the  first  to  perceive, 
and  the  last  to  communicate.  It  extended  to  the  color  of  the 
hair  and  of  the  eyes.  Surely  it  ought  to  have  rendered  a 


A   STORY   OF    SANTANDER.  273 

reasonable  man  more  pious  and  paternal,  but  it  produced  quite 
a  contrary  effect.  He  could  hardly  endure  to  hear  the  three 
glorious  saints  mentioned ;  and  whenever  he  uttered  their 
names,  he  elongated  the  syllables  with  useless  emphasis  and 
graceless  pertinacity.  Moreover,  in  speaking  of  the  child  to 
its  numerous  admirers,  he  swore  that  the  creature  was  ugly  and 
white-blooded.  Within  two  more  years  Dona  Pedrila  bore 
another  son  to  him,  and  died.  This  son,  Ignacio,  came  into 
the  world  a  few  months  before  his  cousin  Ines,  and  the  fathers 
were  confident  that  the  union  of  two  such  congenial  names 
would  secure  the  happiness  of  the  children  and  of  their 
posterity. 

Before  Antonio  had  completed  quite  eleven  years  he  was 
sent  for  his  education  to  Salamanca,  not  as  a  collegian,  but  as 
a  pupil  under  an  old  officer,  a  friend  of  Don  Luis,  who  being 
somewhat  studious  had  retired  to  end  his  days  in  that  city. 
Here  the  boy,  although  he  made  no  unsatisfactory  progress  in 
polite  literature,  engaged  more  willingly  with  his  tutor  in  manly 
exercises,  likewise  in  singing  and  playing  on  the  guitar.  He 
was  never  invited  home  for  three  entire  years ;  but  Ignacio, 
who  was  of  the  mildest  temper  and  kindest  disposition,  re- 
membering the  playfulness  and  fondness  of  Antonio,  united  his 
entreaties  with  those  of  Ifies  that  he  might  return.  Don  Luis, 
in  reply,  threw  a  leg  over  a  knee. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Ines,  "  he  cannot  ride  on  that  knee  all  the 
way  from  Salamanca ;  send  my  mule  for  him,  saddle,  bridle, 
and  ropes,  and  the  little  bit  of  gilt  leather  for  the  crupper, 
from  the  shrine  of  blessed  Saint  Antonio,  his  patron  no  less 
than  the  patron  of  mules  and  horses.  Ignacio  says  we  must 
have  him ;  and  have  him  we  will,  if  prayers  and  masses  go  for 
anything.  Cannot  we  sing,  cannot  we  play?  What  would  you 
wish  for  his  studies,  —  heresy,  magic,  freemasonry,  chemistry, 
necromancy  ?  We  want  him,  dear  uncle ;  we  want  him  sadly 
with  us.  You  always  give  us  what  we  ask  for  in  reason.  Come 
now,  a  kiss,  uncle,  and  then  the  mule  out  of  the  stable.  Come, 
we  will  help  you  to  write  the  letter,  as  you  are  somewhat  out 
of  practice,  and  I  know  how  to  fold  one  up,  after  a  trial  or 
two." 

No  one  could  resist  this  appeal :  Antonio  was  sent  for.  He 
returned  in  raptures.  On  his  first  entrance  the  lively  eyes  of 

18 


2/4  A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

Ifies,  full  of  curiosity,  were  bent  toward  him ;  but  he  regarded 
her  not.  He  threw  his  arms  around  Ignacio,  lifted  him  off 
the  ground,  set  him  down  again,  gazed  on  his  face,  and  burst 
suddenly  into  tears. 

"  Ignacio,  my  Ignacio,  how  light  you  are  !  how  thin,  how 
pallid,  how  weak  !  " 

Don  Luis  looked  on,  and  muttered  something  inaudible. 
Antonio,  fearful  of  having  offended  his  worthy  genitor  by  neg- 
lect of  duty,  sprang  from  his  dejection,  clasped  the  waist  of 
Don  Luis,  and  then  falling  at  his  feet,  asked  his  blessing.  Don 
Luis  with  bitter  composure  prayed  the  three  saints  to  bestow 
it,  as  they  might  well  do,  he  said,  on  the  young  Senor  Don 
Antonio  now  before  them.  The  boy  kissed  his  hand  and 
thanked  him  fervently ;  and  now,  in  his  inconsiderate  joyous- 
ness,  another  spring  forward ;  but  he  stopped  in  the  midst  of 
it,  and  instead  of  running  up  at  once  to  Ines,  who  bit  her  lip 
and  pinched  her  veil,  he  turned  again  to  Ignacio,  and  asked 
him  in  a  whisper  whether  cousins  were  forced  to  kiss  after  an 
absence  of  only  three  years.  "Certainly  not,"  replied  Ignacio. 
But  Ifies  came  up,  and  pouting  a  little  gave  him  her  hand 
spontaneously,  and  helped  him  moreover  to  raise  it  to  his  lips, 
saying,  as  he  blushed  at  it,  "You  simpleton  !  you  coward  !  " 

Antonio  bore  "simpleton"  pretty  well ;  "  coward  "  amused 
him,  and  gave  him  spirit.  He  seized  her  hand  afresh,  and 
kept  it  within  his,  although  she  pushed  the  other  against  his 
breast,  —  the  little  hand,  with  its  five  arches  of  pink-polished 
nails  half  hidden  in  his  waistcoat ;  the  little  hand  sprouting 
forth  at  him,  soft  and  pulpy  as  that  downy  bud  which  swells 
and  bursts  into  the  vine- leaf. 

Antonio  never  saw  in  her  any  other  object  than  the  betrothed 
of  his  brother,  and  never  was  with  her  so  willingly  as  with  him. 
Nor  indeed  did  Ines  care  much  about  Antonio,  but  wished 
he  could  be  a  little  more  attentive  and  polite,  and  sing  in  a 
chamber  as  willingly  as  in  a  chestnut-tree.  After  six  weeks 
Don  Luis  observed  that  Antonio  was  interrupting  the  studies 
of  Ignacio  and  neglecting  his  own.  Accordingly  he  was  sent 
back  to  Salamanca,  where  he  continued  five  whole  years  with- 
out recall.  At  this  time  the  French  armies  had  invaded  Spain ; 
the  old  officer,  Don  Pablo  Espinosa,  who  directed  the  studies 
of  Antonio,  wrote  to  his  father  that  the  gallant  youth,  now  in 


A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER.  275 

his  twentieth  year,  desired  to  be  enrolled  in  the  regiment  of 
the  province,  next  to  himself,  as  a  volunteer  and  a  private.  In 
the  fulness  of  joy  Don  Luis  announced  these  tidings  to  Ignacio 
and  Ines.  They  both  turned  pale ;  both  threw  themselves  on 
the  floor  before  him,  entreating  and  imploring  him  to  forbid  it. 
Their  supplications  and  their  tears  for  many  days  were  insuffi- 
cient to  mollify  Don  Luis.  By  this  time  a  large  division  of  the 
French  army  had  surrendered,  and  insurrection  was  universal. 
Don  Pablo  was  constrained,  by  three  urgent  letters,  —  of  which 
the  father's  was,  however,  the  least  so,  —  to  leave  his  pupil  at 
the  university ;  he  himself  took  the  field,  and  perished  in  the 
first  battle.  Antonio,  disappointed  in  his  hopes  of  distinction, 
swore  to  avenge  his  tutor's  death  and  his  country's  honor.  His 
noble  person,  his  extraordinary  strength,  his  eloquent  tongue, 
his  unquestioned  bravery,  soon  placed  him  at  the  head  of  many 
students,  and  he  was  always  the  first  to  advise  and  execute  the 
most  difficult  and  dangerous  enterprises. 

Toward  the  north  of  Spain  the  enemy  had  rallied,  and  had 
won,  indeed,  the  battle  of  Rio  Seco,  but  within  a  month  were 
retreating  in  all  directions.  Antonio,  bound  by  no  other  duties 
than  those  of  a  volunteer,  acceded  at  last  to  the  earnest  and  re- 
peated wishes  of  his  brother  and  cousin  that  he  would  in  this 
interval  return  to  them.  Don  Luis  said  he  would  be  a  mad- 
man wherever  he  was,  but  might  return  if  he  liked  it,  both  he 
and  his  guitar.  On  the  first  of  August,  1808,  the  visitor  passed 
again  the  threshold  of  his  native  home.  Covered  as  he  was 
with  dust,  he  entered  the  apartment  where  the  family  were 
seated.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  supper  had  just  been 
taken  off  the  table,  excepting  two  small  flasks  of  red  and  white 
wine,  part  of  a  watermelon,  and  some  pomegranates.  In  fact, 
more  was  remaining  than  had  been  eaten  or  removed,  not  reck- 
oning a  radish  of  extraordinary  length  and  tenuity,  which  the 
Senorita  Ines  was  twisting  round  her  thumb.  It  was  no  waste  ; 
there  was  not  any  use  for  it ;  many  things  in  the  house  were 
better  to  mend  harness  with.  Moreover,  on  the  sideboard 
there  were  sundry  yellow  peaches,  of  such  a  size,  weight,  and 
hardness  that  only  a  confident  and  rash  invader  would  traverse 
the  country  in  the  season  of  their  maturity,  unless  he  had  col- 
lected the  most  accurate  information  that  powder  was  deficient 
in  the  arsenals. 


2/6  A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

At  the  dusty  apparition,  at  the  beard  and  whiskers  never  seen 
before,  at  the  broad  and  belted  shoulder,  at  the  loud-spurred 
boot,  at  the  long  and  hurried  stride  toward  the  party,  Don  Luis 
stared  ;  Don  Ignacio  stared ;  Dona  Ines  cast  her  eyes  on  the 
ground  and  said,  "  '  T  is  he  !  "  The  brother,  whether  he  heard 
her  or  not,  repeated  the  words  "  'Tis  he  !  "  and  rushed  into  his 
arms.  Don  Luis  himself  rose  slowly  from  his  chair,  and 
welcomed  him.  Ines  was  the  nearest  to  him,  and  seemed 
abashed. 

"  My  cousin,"  said  Antonio,  bending  down  to  her,  "  I  have 
yet  to  remove  in  part  the  name  of  coward,"  and  lifting  her 
hand  from  her  apron,  he  kissed  the  extremities  of  her  fingers. 
"  Brother,  one  more  embrace,  and  then  for  those  pomegran- 
ates ;  I  am  thirsty  to  death.  God  be  with  you,  my  dear,  kind, 
honored  father  !  You  look  upon  me  with  more  than  usual, 
and  much  more  than  merited,  affection."  Don  Luis  did  in- 
deed regard  him  with  much  complacency.  "  I  must  empty 
those  two  flasks,  my  beloved  father,  to  your  health."  So  say- 
ing, he  poured  the  contents  of  one  into  a  capacious  beaker, 
with  about  the  same  quantity  of  water,  and  swallowed  it  at  a 
draught. 

"What  lady  have  you  engulfed  with  that  enormous  gasp?" 
asked  Ines,  with  timid  shyness ;  "  will  she  never  rise  up,  do 
you  think,  in  judgment  against  you?  " 

"  Pray  mix  me  the  flask  near  you,"  said  he,  "  in  like  manner 
as  the  last,  and  then  perhaps  I  may  answer  you,  my  sweet 
cousin ;  but  tell  me,  Ines,  whether  I  did  not  rasp  your  nails 
with  my  thirsty  and  hard  lips?" 

"Yes,  and  with  that  horrid  brake  above,"  said  she,  pouring 
out  the  wine  and  water,  and  offering  it. 

Don  Luis  all  this  time  had  kept  his  eyes  constantly  on  his 
son,  and  began  to  prognosticate  in  him  a  valiant  defender ; 
then  discovered,  first  in  one  feature,  afterward  in  another,  a  re- 
semblance to  himself;  and  lastly,  he  was  persuaded  in  his  own 
mind  that  he  had  been  prejudiced  and  precipitate  when  he 
was  younger.  The  spirit  of  hospitality  was  aroused  by  paternal 
love ;  he  gave  orders  for  a  fowl  to  be  killed  instantaneously, 
even  the  hen  on  her  nest  rather  than  none,  although  the  omelet 
might  be  thinner  for  it  on  the  morrow.  Such  was  the  charm 
the  gallant  and  gay  Antonio  breathed  about  the  house.  He 


A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

was  peculiarly  pleased  and  gratified  by  the  suavity  of  his  father ; 
not  that  he  ever  had  doubted  of  his  affection,  but  he  had  fan- 
cied that  his  own  boisterous  manners  had  rendered  him  less 
an  object  of  solicitude.  He  had  always  been  glad  to  see  it 
bestowed  on  his  brother,  whose  delicate  health  and  sensitive 
nature  so  much  required  it. 

No  house  in  Spain,  where  few  were  happy  then,  contained 
four  happier  inmates.  Ignacio,  it  is  true,  became  thinner 
daily,  and  ceased  after  a  time  to  join  in  the  morning  walks  of 
his  brother  and  Ines ;  but  he  was  always  of  the  party  when, 
returning  from  the  siesta,  they  took  up  their  guitars,  and  tuned 
each  other's. 

Were  there  ever  two  comely  and  sensitive  young  persons, 
possessing  sweet  voices,  exercising  them  daily  together,  bending 
over  the  same  book,  expressing  the  same  sentiment  in  its  most 
passionate  accents,  —  were  they  ever  long  exempt  from  the  gen- 
tle intrusion  of  one  sweet  stranger?  Neither  Ines  nor  Antonio 
was  aware  of  it ;  both  would  have  smiled  in  the  beginning,  and 
both  would  have  afterward  been  indignant  at  any  such  surmise. 
But  revolutions  in  States  effect  no  revolutions  in  nature.  The 
French,  who  changed  everything  else,  left  the  human  heart  as 
they  found  it.  Ignacio  feared,  but  said  nothing.  Antonio  too, 
although  much  later,  was  awakened  to  the  truth,  and  determined 
on  departure.  And  now  Ignacio  was  ashamed  and  grieved  at 
his  suspicions,  and  would  have  delayed  his  brother,  who  dis- 
sembled his  observation  of  them  ;  but  the  poor  youth's  health, 
always  slender,  had  given  way  under  them.  For  several  days 
he  had  taken  to  his  bed ;  fever  had  seized  him,  and  had  been 
subdued.  But  there  is  a  rose  which  Death  lays  quietly  on  the 
cheek  of  the  devoted,  before  the  poppy  sheds  on  it  its  tran- 
quillizing leaves :  it  had  settled  immovably  in  the  midst  of 
Ignacio's  smiles,  —  smiles  tranquilly  despondent.  Seldom  did 
Antonio  leave  his  bedside,  but  never  had  he  yet  possessed  the 
courage  to  inquire  the  cause  of  those  sighs  and  tears,  which 
burst  forth  in  every  moment  of  silence,  and  then  only.  At 
length  however  he  resolved  on  it,  that  he  might  assure  him  the 
more  confidently  of  his  recovery,  having  first  requested  Ines 
that,  whenever  he  was  absent,  she  would  supply  his  place. 

"  Cannot  we  go  together?  "  said  she,  disquieted. 

"  No,  sefiora  ! ''  answered  he,  with  stern  sadness,  "  we  can- 


2/8  A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

not.  You  owe  this  duty  to  the  companion  of  your  girlhood,  to 
the  bequeathed  of  your  parents,  to  your  betrothed." 

At  that  word  sudden  paleness  overspread  her  countenance ; 
her  lips,  which  never  before  had  lost  their  rich  color,  faded  and 
quivered.  No  reply  could  pass  them,  had  any  been  ready ; 
even  the  sigh  was  drawn  suddenly  back,  —  not  one  escaped. 
In  all  that  was  visible  she  was  motionless.  But  now  with  strong 
impulse  she  pressed  both  palms  against  her  bosom,  and  turned 
away.  The  suddenness  and  the  sound  struck  terror  into  the 
heart  of  Antonio.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  Tears  glittered  on  the  folds  of  the  long 
black  veil ;  and  they  were  not  the  tears  of  Ifies.  But  now  she 
also  shed  them.  Alas  !  from  how  many  and  from  what  distant 
sources  do  they  flow  ! 

Ines  went ;  she  sobbed  at  the  door,  but  she  went.  No  song 
that  evening,  no  book,  no  romance  of  love,  no  narrative  of  war  : 
the  French  were  as  forgotten  as  the  Moors. 

Morning  rose  fresh  and  radiant ;  but  the  dim  lavender  on 
each  side  of  the  narrow  pathway  had  all  its  dew  upon  it ;  the 
cistus  was  opening  its  daily  flowers,  with  no  finger  to  press 
down  and  attempt  to  smoothen  the  crumpled  leaves  ;  none  to 
apply  its  viscous  cup  in  playful  malice  against  the  trim  orna- 
ment of  a  smiling  lip.  Nobody  thought  of  looking  for  the 
large  green  lizard  on  the  limestone  by  the  twisted  rosemary- 
bush,  covered  with  as  many  bees  as  blossoms,  and  uprearing  as 
many  roots  as  branches  above  the  prostrate  wall.  Nobody 
thought  of  asking,  "Did  you  ever  know  any  creature  who 
panted  so  quickly  as  that  foolish  lizard?  —  I  mean  in  bat- 
tle." Nobody  met  the  inquiry  with,  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
any  one  who  felt  anything  a  little,  a  very  little  like  it,  at  the 
cembalo  ?  " 

Antonio,  at  this  early  hour,  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  his 
brother's  bed,  asking  him,  with  kind  dissimulation,  what  reason 
he  could  possibly  have  to  doubt  Ifies'  love  and  constancy. 

"  At  first,"  replied  Ignacio,  "  she  used  to  hold  my  hand,  to 
look  anxiously  in  my  face,  and  to  wipe  away  her  tears  that  she 
might  see  it  the  more  distinctly  in  this  darkened  chamber. 
Now  she  has  forgotten  to  take  my  hand ;  she  looks  as  often 
into  my  face,  but  not  anxiously,  not  even  inquiringly;  she 
lets  her  tears  rise  and  dry  again ;  she  never  wipes  them  away, 


A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER.  2/9 

and  seldom  hides  them.  This  at  least  is  a  change  in  her; 
perhaps  no  favorable  one  for  me." 

Antonio  thus  answered  him  :  "  Ignacio,  if  we  would  rest  at 
all,  we  must  change  our  posture  in  grief  as  in  bed.  The  first 
moments  are  not  like  the  second,  nor  the  second  like  the  last. 
Be  confident  in  her ;  be  confident  in  me  :  within  two  hours 
you  shall,  I  promise  you,  whether  you  will  or  not.  Farewell, 
my  beloved  brother  !  You  are  weary  ;  close  but  your  eyes  for 
sleep,  and  sleep  shall  come.  I  will  not  awaken  you,  even  with 
glad  tidings." 

Folding  his  arms,  he  left  the  chamber  with  a  firm  step. 
Within  two  hours  he  entered  it  again ;  but  how  ?  Hateful  as 
monastic  life  had  ever  appeared  to  him,  ridiculous  as  he  daily 
in  Salamanca  had  called  its  institutions,  indifferent  and  incred- 
ulous as  he  lately  had  become  to  many  articles  of  the  faith, 
having  been  educated  under  the  tuition  of  a  soldier,  —  so  free 
in  his  opinions  as  once  to  have  excited  the  notice  and  question- 
ings of  the  Inquisition,  —  he  went  resolutely  forth  at  daybreak, 
and  prevailed  on  the  superior  of  a  monastic  order  to  admit  him 
into  it  at  once,  as  its  sworn  defender.  He  returned  in  the  vest- 
ments of  that  order,  and  entered  the  bedchamber  in  silence. 
His  brother  had  slept,  and  was  yet  sleeping.  He  gently 
undrew  the  curtain,  and  stood  motionless.  Ignacio  at  last 
moved  his  elbow,  and  sighed  faintly ;  he  then  rested  on  it  a 
little,  and -raised  his  cheek  higher  on  the  pillow:  it  had  lost 
the  gift  of  rest,  its  virtues  were  departed  from  it ;  there  was 
no  cool  part  left.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  toward 
Antonio ;  then  closed  them,  then  looked  again. 

"  Ignacio  !  "  said  Antonio,  softly,  "  you  see  me  ;  it  is  me  you 
see,  Ignacio  ! " 

The  sick  exhausted  youth  sighed  again,  and  closing  his  hands, 
raised  them  as  if  in  prayer.  This  movement  fully  awakened  him. 
He  now  opened  his  eyes  in  wonder  on  his  brother,  who  pressed 
those  raised  hands  within  his,  and  kissed  that  brow  which  the 
fever  had  shortly  left.  Ignacio  sighed  deeply  and  sank  back 
again.  The  first  words  he  uttered  afterward  were  these  :  — 

"  Oh,  Antonio  !  why  could  you  not  have  waited,  —  impet- 
uous, impatient  Antonio  ?  I  might  have  seen  you  both  from 
Paradise  ;  I  might  have  blest  you  from  thence,  —  from  thence 
I  might  indeed.  O  God  !  O  Virgin  !  O  Mary,  pure  and  true  ! 


28O  A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

pardon  my  ingratitude  !  Should  love  ever  bear  that  bitter  fruit  ? 
Forbid  it,  O  host  of  Heaven  !  forbid  it !  it  must  not  be." 

"  Brother,  speak  not  so  ;  it  is  accomplished,"  said  Antonio  ; 
"  and  now  can  you  doubt  your  bride?  " 

Ifies  at  this  moment  rushed  into  the  chamber.  She  knew  the 
stately  figure,  she  knew  the  lofty  head,  although  tonsured ;  she 
screamed  and  fainted.  Antonio  drew  her  forth  by  the  arm, 
and  when  she  recovered  her  senses,  thus  addressed  her :  — 

"  Cousin,  my  heart  reproaches  me  for  having  loved  you.  If 
yours  (how  incomparably  less  guilty  !)  should  haply  feel  some 
compunction,  not  indeed  at  what  is  past,  but  at  what  you  see," 
and  he  extended  his  large  mantle  to  his  arm's  length,  "  return 
from  the  unworthy  to  the  worthy ;  from  him  who  renounces 
the  world  to  him  whose  world  you  are.  Now,  Ines,  now  we 
can  with  unabashed  front  go  together  into  his  chamber." 

"  I  will  tend  him,"  said  she,  "  day  and  night ;  I  will  follow 
him  to  the  grave ;  I  will  enter  it  with  him,  —  yes,  and  even 
that  chamber,  while  he  suffers  in  it,  I  will  enter."  She  paused 
awhile,  then  continued :  "  Antonio,  oh,  Antonio  !  you  have 
never  loved.  They  tell  us  none  can  love  twice.  That  is  false  ; 
but  this  is  true,  —  we  can  never  love  twice  the  same  object." 

Antonio  stood  mute  with  wonder  at  the  speech  of  this  inno- 
cent girl,  retired  alike  from  society  and  unbeguiled  by  books. 
Little  had  he  considered  how  strong  a  light  is  sometimes  thrown 
on  the  intellect,  what  volumes  of  thought  are  expanded  and 
made  clearly  legible,  by  the  first  outflaming  of  the  passions. 
And  yet  Antonio  should  have  known  it ;  for  in  the  veins  of 
Antonio  one  half  was  blood,  the  other  half  was  fire.  While 
with  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  he  stood  yet  before  her,  who 
perhaps  was  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  added  briefly,  — 

"  Let  me  repair  my  fault  as  well  as  may  be.  You  shall  see 
me  no  more.  Leave,  me  sir  !  " 

Antonio  did  leave  her.  In  a  fortnight  the  gentle  spirit  of 
Ignacio  had  departed. 

The  French  armies  had  again  defeated  the  Spanish,  pene- 
trated to  Santander,  laid  waste  all  the  country  around,  and  de- 
molished the  convent  in  which  Ines  had  taken  refuge.  Some 
women  in  Spanish  cities  were  heroines  ;  in  Spanish  convents,  if 
any  became  so,  the  heroism  was  French. 


A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER.  28 1 

They  who  have  visited  Santander  will  remember  the  pointed 
hill  on  the  northwest  of  the  city,  looking  far  over  the  harbor, 
the  coast,  and  the  region  of  La  Mancha.  Even  while  the 
enemy  was  in  possession  of  the  place,  a  solitary  horseman  was 
often  seen  posted  on  this  eminence,  and  many  were  the.  dead 
bodies  of  French  soldiers  found  along  the  roads  on  every  side 
under  it.  Doubtless,  the  horseman  had  strong  and  urgent  rea- 
sons for  occupying  a  position  so  exposed  to  danger.  It  was 
Antonio.  He  had  heard  that  Ifies,  after  the  desecration  of  the 
convent,  had  been  carried  back  by  the  invaders  into  Santander. 

Early  in  October,  the  officers  of  the  garrison  made  parties 
with  the  ladies  of  the  city  to  enjoy  the  vintage  in  its  vicinity. 
One  morning  a  peasant  boy  employed  by  Antonio,  ran  breath- 
less up  to  him  on  the  mountain  side,  saying,  as  soon  as  he 
could  say  it,  — 

"  Illustrious  senor,  the  Seriora  Ifies  and  the  other  senoras, 
and  an  officer  and  a  soldier,  all  French,  are  coming ;  and  only 
a  mile  behind  are  many  more." 

"  I  have  watched  them,"  replied  Antonio,  "  and  shall  dis- 
tinguish them  presently."  He  led  his  horse  close  behind  a  high 
wagon,  laden  with  long  and  narrow  barrels  of  newly  gathered 
grapes  standing  upright  in  it,  and  then  tied  his  bridle  to  the  bar 
which  kept  them  in  their  position.  Only  one  horse  could  pass 
it  at  a  time.  Ifies  was  behind ;  the  officer  was  showing  her 
the  way,  and  threatening  both  vintagers  and  mules  for  their  in- 
tractability. Antonio  sprang  forward,  seized  him  by  the  collar, 
and  threw  him  under  them,  crying  to  Ifies  :  "  Fly  into  the 
mountains  with  me  !  not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost !  Pass  me  : 
he  is  out  of  the  way.  Fly  !  fly  !  Distrust  my  sanctity,  but  trust 
my  honor,  O  Ines  of  Ignacio  !  " 

Ines  drew  in  her  bridle,  turned  her  face  aside,  and  said 
irresolutely,  "  I  cannot !  oh,  I  cannot !  I  am  —  I  am  —  " 

She  could  not  utter  what  she  was  :  perhaps  the  sequel  may 
in  part  reveal  it.  Scarcely  had  she  spoken  the  last  words,  be- 
fore she  leaped  down  from  her  saddle,  and  hung  with  her  whole 
weight  on  Antonio's  arm,  in  which  the  drawn  sword  was  uplifted 
over  the  enemy,  and  waiting  only  until  he  could  rise  upon  his 
feet  again,  and  stand  upon  his  defence.  He  was  young,  as  was 
discernible  even  through  the  dense  forest  of  continuous  hair 
which  covered  all  but  nose  and  forehead.  Roughly  and  with 


282  A    STORY    OF    SANTANDER. 

execrations  did  he  thrust  Ifies  away  from  him,  indignant  at  her 
struggles  for  his  protection.  Before  the  encounter  (for  which 
both  were  eager)  could  begin,  the  private  had  taken  his  post 
behind  an  ilex  at  the  back  of  Antonio,  and  discharged  his  mus- 
ket. Gratitude,  shame,  love  perhaps  too,  hurried  Ifies  to  his 
help.  She  fell  on  her  knees  to  raise  him.  Gently,  with  open 
palm  and  quivering  fingers,  he  pushed  her  arm  away  from  him, 
and  turning  with  a  painful  effort  quite  round,  pressed  his  brow 
against  the  wayside  sward.  The  shepherd  dogs  in  the  evening 
of  that  sultry  day  tried  vainly  to  quench  their  thirst,  as  they 
often  had  done  in  other  human  blood,  in  the  blood  also  of 
Antonio  :  it  was  hard,  and  they  left  it.  The  shepherds  gave 
them  all  the  bread  they  carried  with  them,  and  walked  home 
silently. 


VII.     THE  DEATH  OF  HOFER. 

I  PASSED  two  entire  months  in  Germany,  and  like  the  people. 
On  my  way  I  saw  Waterloo,  —  an  ugly  table  for  an  ugly  game. 
At  Innspruck  I  entered  the  church  in  which  Andreas  Hofer  is 
buried.  He  lies  under  a  plain  slab,  on  the  left,  near  the  door. 
I  admired  the  magnificent  tomb  of  bronze  in  the  centre,  sur- 
rounded by  heroes,  real  and  imaginary.  They  did  not  fight, 
tens  against  thousands ;  they  did  not  fight  for  wives  and  chil- 
dren, but  for  lands  and  plunder,  —  therefore  they  are  heroes  ! 
My  admiration  for  these  works  of  art  was  soon  satisfied,  which 
perhaps  it  would  not  have  been  in  any  other  place.  Snow 
mixed  with  rain  was  falling,  and  was  blown  by  the  wind  upon 
the  tomb  of  Hofer'.  I  thought  how  often  he  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  such  weather  for  his  attacks  against  the  enemies  of  his 
country,  and  I  seemed  to  hear  his  whistle  in  the  wind.  At  the 
little  village  of  Landro  (I  feel  a  whimsical  satisfaction  in  the 
likeness  of  the  name  to  mine)  the  innkeeper  was  the  friend  of 
this  truly  great  man,  —  the  greatest  man  that  Europe  has  pro- 
duced in  our  days,  excepting  his  true  compeer,  Kosciusko. 
Andreas  Hofer  gave  him  the  chain  and  crucifix  he  wore  three 
days  before  his  death.  You  may  imagine  this  man's  enthusi- 
asm, who  because  I  had  said  that  Hofer  was  greater  than  king 
or  emperor,  and  had  made  him  a  present  of  small  value  as  the 
companion  and  friend  of  that  harmless  and  irreproachable  hero, 
took  this  precious  relic  from  his  neck  and  offered  it  to  me. 

By  the  order  of  Bonaparte,  the  companions  of  Hofer,  eighty  in 
number,  were  chained,  thumbscrewed,  and  taken  out  of  prison 
in  couples  to  see  him  shot.  He  had  about  him  one  thousand 
florins  in  paper  currency,  which  he  delivered  to  his  confessor, 
requesting  him  to  divide  it  impartially  among  his  unfortunate 
countrymen.  The  confessor,  an  Italian  who  spoke  German, 
kept  it,  and  never  gave  relief  from  it  to  any  of  them,  most  of 
whom  were  suffering,  not  only  from  privation  of  wholesome 


284  THE    DEATH    OF    HOFER. 

air,  to  which,  among  other  privations  they  never  had  been  ac- 
customed, but  also  from  scantiness  of  nourishment  and  clothing. 
Even  in  Mantua,  where  as  in  the  rest  of  Italy  sympathy  is  both 
weak  and  silent,  the  lowest  of  the  people  were  indignant  at  the 
sight  of  so  brave  a  defender  of  his  country  led  into  the  public 
square  to  expiate  a  crime  unheard  of  for  many  centuries  in 
their  nation.  When  they  saw  him  walk  forth,  with  unaltered 
countenance  and  firm  step  before  them  ;  when,  stopping  on  the 
ground  which  was  about  to  receive  his  blood,  they  heard  him 
with  unfaltering  voice  commend  his  soul  and  his  country  to  the 
Creator,  and  as  if  still  under  his  own  roof  (a  custom  with  him 
after  the  evening  prayer),  implore  a  blessing  for  his  boys  and 
his  little  daughter,  and  for  the  mother  who  had  reared  them  up 
carefully  and  tenderly  thus  far  through  the  perils  of  childhood  ; 
finally,  when  in  a  lower  tone,  but  earnestly  and  emphatically, 
he  besought  pardon  from  the  Fount  of  Mercy  for  her  brother, 
his  betrayer,  —  many  smote  their  breasts  aloud  ;  many,  think- 
ing that  sorrow  was  shameful,  lowered  their  heads  and  wept ; 
many,  knowing  that  it  was  dangerous,  yet  wept  too.  The  peo- 
ple remained  upon  the  spot  an  unusual  time';  and  the  French, 
fearing  some  commotion,  pretended  to  have  received  an  order 
from  Bonaparte  for  the  mitigation  of  the  sentence,  and  publicly 
announced  it.  Among  his  many  falsehoods,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  excluded  him  forever  from  the  society  of  men  of 
honor,  this  is  perhaps  the  basest ;  as  indeed  of  all  his  atrocities 
the  death  of  Hofer,  which  he  had  ordered  long  before  and  ap- 
pointed the  time  and  circumstances,  is  that  which  the  brave 
and  virtuous  will  reprobate  the  most  severely.  He  was  urged 
by  no  necessity,  he  was  prompted  by  no  policy ;  his  impatience 
of  courage  in  an  enemy,  his  hatred  of  patriotism  and  integrity 
in  all,  of  which  he  had  no  idea  himself  and  saw  no  image  in 
those  about  him,  outstripped  his  blind  passion  for  fame,  and 
left  him  nothing  but  power  and  celebrity. 

The  name  of  Andreas  Hofer  will  be  honored  by  posterity 
far  above  any  of  the  present  age,  and  together  with  the  most 
glorious  of  the  last, — Washington  and  Kosciusko.  For  it  rests 
on  the  same  foundation,  and  indeed  on  a  higher  basis.  In 
virtue  and  wisdom  their  coequal,  he  vanquished  on  several 
occasions  a  force  greatly  superior  to  his  own  in  numbers  and 
in  discipline,  by  the  courage  and  confidence  he  inspired,  and 


THE    DEATH    OF    HOFER.  285 

by  his  brotherly  care  and  anxiety  for  those  who  were  fighting 
at  his  side.  Differently,  far  differently,  ought  we  to  estimate 
the  squanderers  of  human  blood,  and  the  scorners  of  human 
tears.  We  also  may  boast  of  our  great  men  in  a  cause  as 
great,  —  for  without  it  they  could  not  be  so.  We  may  look 
back  upon  our  Blake,  whom  the  prodigies  of  a  Nelson  do  not 
eclipse,  —  nor  would  he  have  wished  (such  was  his  generosity) 
to  obscure  it.  Blake  was  among  the  founders  of  freedom ; 
Nelson  was  the  vanquisher  of  its  destroyers ;  Washington  was 
both;  Kosciusko  was  neither;  neither  was  Hofer.  But  the 
aim  of  all  five  was  alike ;  and  in  the  armory  of  God  are  sus- 
pended the  arms  the  last  two  of  them  bore,  —  suspended  for 
success  more  signal  and  for  vengeance  more  complete. 

I  am  writing  this  from  Venice,  which  is  among  cities  what 
Shakspeare  is  among  men.  He  will  give  her  immortality  by 
his  works,  which  neither  her  patron  saint  could  do  nor  her 
surrounding  sea. 


VIII.     A   VISION. 

BLESSED  be  they  who  erected  temples  to  the  ancient  Gods  ! 
Mistaken  they  may  have  been,  but  they  were  pious  and  they 
were  grateful.  The  deities  of  Olympus,  although  no  longer 
venerated,  have  thrown  open  both  to  the  enthusiastic  and  to  the 
contemplative  many  a  lofty  view  beyond  the  sterile  eminences 
of  human  life,  and  have  adorned  every  road  of  every  region 
with  images  of  grandeur  and  of  grace.  Never  are  they  malig- 
nant or  indifferent  to  the  votary  who  has  abandoned  them  ;  and 
I  believe  there  is  no  record  of  any  appearing  by  night  with 
frowns  and  threats,  but  on  the  contrary  I  know  from  my  own 
experience  that  neither  time  nor  neglect  has  worn  the  celestial 
smile  off  their  placid  countenances.  An  instance  of  this  fact  I 
am  now  about  to  relate. 

Let  me  begin  by  observing  that  my  eyes,  perhaps  by  an 
imprudent  use  of  them,  grow  soon  weary  with  reading,  even 
while  curiosity  and  interest  have  lost  little  or  nothing  of  ex- 
citement. A  slumber  of  a  few  minutes  is  sufficient  to  refresh 
them,  during  which  time  I  often  enjoy  the  benefit  of  a  dream  ; 
and  what  is,  I  believe,  remarkable  and  singular,  it  usually  takes 
a  direction  far  wide  of  the  studies  on  which  I  had  been  en- 
gaged. On  one  occasion  perhaps  it  might  have  been  that  — 
pushing  my  book  away  from  me  to  the  middle  of  the  table  — 
the  last  object  I  saw  was  a  picture  by  Swaneveldt,  on  the  left 
of  which  there  is  a  temple ;  for  a  temple,  sure  enough,  stood 
before  me  in  my  dream.  Beside  it  ran  a  river,  and  beyond 
it  rose  a  mountain,  each  sensible  alike  of  the  sky  that  glowed 
above.  So  far  the  picture  and  the  dream  were  in  accordance. 
But  the  dream's  temple  was  entirely  its  own ;  it  had  no  sheep 
nor  shepherd  near  it  as  the  picture  had,  and  although  dreams 
are  apt  to  take  greater  liberties  than  pictures  do,  yet  in  the 
picture  there  was  an  autumnal  tree  by  the  side  of  a  summer 
tree,  —  the  one  of  rich  yellow,  the  other  of  deep  green.  In 


A    VISION.  287 

the  dream  I  remember  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  yet  I  verily  think 
I  remember  every  particle  of  it.  I  remember  a  cool  and  gentle 
hand  conducting  me  over  some  narrow  planks  thrown  across 
a  deep  channel  of  still  water.  I  remember  the  broad  leaves 
underneath  us,  and  how  smooth,  how  quiet,  how  stainless.  I 
remember  we  tarried  here  awhile,  not  leaning  on  the  rail,  for 
there  was  none,  but  tacitly  agreeing  to  be  mistaken  in  what  we 
reciprocally  were  leaning  on.  At  length  we  passed  onward  by 
the  side  of  a  cottage  in  ruins,  with  an  oven  projecting  from 
it  at  the  gable-end ;  on  the  outside  of  its  many-colored  arch 
were  gilliflowers  growing  in  the  crevices ;  very  green  moss,  in 
rounded  tufts  and  blossoming,  had  taken  possession  of  its  en- 
trance ;  and  another  plant,  as  different  as  possible,  was  hanging 
down  from  it,  so  long  and  slender  and  flexible  that  a  few  bees 
as  they  alighted  on  it  shook  it.  Suddenly  I  stumbled ;  my 
beautiful  guide  blushed  deeply,  and  said, — 

"  Do  you  stumble  at  the  first  step  of  the  temple  ?  What  an 
omen  !  " 

I  had  not  perceived  that  we  had  reached  any  temple  ;  but 
now,  abashed  at  the  reproof,  I  looked  up  and  could  read  the 
inscription,  although  the  letters  were  ancient,  for  they  were 
deeply  and  well  engraven.  "Sacred  to  Friendship"  were  the 
words,  in  Greek.  The  steps  were  little  worn,  and  retained  all 
their  smoothness  and  their  polish.  After  so  long  a  walk  as 
I  had  taken  I  doubt  whether  I  should'  have  ascended  them 
without  the  hand  that  was  offered  me.  In  the  temple  I  beheld 
an .  image,  of  a  marble  so  purely  white  that  it  seemed  but  re- 
cently chiselled.  I  walked  up  to  it  and  stood  before  it.  The 
feet  were  not  worn  as  the  feet  of  some  images  are  by  the  lips 
of  votaries ;  indeed,  I  could  fancy  that  scarcely  the  tip  of  a 
finger  had  touched  them,  and  I  felt  pretty  sure  that  words  were 
the  only  offerings,  and  now  and  then  a  sigh  at  a  distance.  Yet 
the  longer  I  gazed  at  it  the  more  beautiful  did  it  appear  in  its 
color  and  proportions ;  and  turning  to  my  companion,  who,  I 
then  discovered,  was  looking  at  me,  — 

"  This  image,"  said  I,  "  has  all  the  features  and  all  the  attri- 
butes of  Love,  excepting  the  bow,  quiver,  and  arrows." 

"Yes,"  answered  she  smiling;  "all  excepting  the  mischiev- 
ous. It  has  all  that  the  wiser  and  better  of  the  ancients  attrib- 
uted to  him.  But  do  you  really  see  no  difference?  " 


288  A    VISION. 

"  Again  I  raised  my  eyes,  and  after  a  while  I  remarked  that 
the  figure  was  a  female,  very  modest,  very  young,  and  little 
needing  the  zone  that  encompassed  her.  I  suppressed  this 
portion  of  my  observations,  innocent  as  it  was,  and  only 
replied,  — 

"  I  see  that  the  torch  is  borne  above  the  head,  and  that  the 
eyes  are  uplifted  in  the  same  direction." 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  she,  "  any  image  of  Love  in  this 
attitude?" 

"  It  might  be,"  I  answered  ;  "  and  with  perfect  propriety." 

"Yes ;  it  both  might  and  should  be,"  said  she.  "  But,"  she 
continued,  "  we  are  not  here  to  worship  Love,  or  to  say  any- 
thing about  him.  Like  all  the  other  blind,  he  is  so  quick  at 
hearing,  and  above  all  others,  blind  or  sighted,  he  is  so  ready 
to  take  advantage  of  the  slightest  word,  that  I  am  afraid  he 
may  one  day  or  other  come  down  on  us  unaware.  He  has 
been  known  before  now  to  assume  the  form  of  Friendship, 
making  sad  confusion.  Let  us  deprecate  this,  bending  our 
heads  devoutly  to  the  Deity  before  us." 

Was  it  a  blush,  or  was  it  the  sun  of  such  a  bright  and 
genial  day,  that  warmed  my  cheek  so  vividly  while  it  de- 
scended in  adoration ;  or  could  it  be,  by  any  chance  of 
casualty,  that  the  veil  touched  it  through  which  the  breath  of 
my  virgin  guide  had  been  passing  ?  Whatever  it  was,  it  awak- 
ened me.  Again  my  eyes  fell  on  the  open  book,  —  to  rest  on 
it,  not  to  read  it ;  and  I  neither  dreamed  nor  slumbered  a 
second  time  that  day. 


IX.     THE   DREAM   OF   PETRARCA. 

WHEN  I  was  younger  I  was  fond  of  wandering  in  solitary 
places,  and  never  was  afraid  of  slumbering  in  woods  and  grot- 
toes. Among  the  chief  pleasures  of  my  life,  and  among  the 
commonest  of  my  occupations,  was  the  bringing  before  me  such 
heroes  and  heroines  of  antiquity,  such  poets  and  sages,  such  of 
the  prosperous  and  of  the  unfortunate,  as  most  interested  me 
by  their  courage,  their  wisdom,  their  eloquence,  or  their  adven- 
tures. Engaging  them  in  the  conversation  best  suited  to  their 
characters,  I  knew  perfectly  their  manners,  their  steps,  their 
voices ;  and  often  did  I  moisten  with  my  tears  the  models  I 
had  been  forming  of  the  less  happy.  Great  is  the  privilege  of 
entering  into  the  studies  of  the  intellectual ;  great  is  that  of 
conversing  with  the  guides  of  nations,  the  movers  of  the  mass, 
the  regulators  of  the  unruly  will,  stiff  in  its  impurity,  and  ra,sh 
against  the  finger  of  the  Almighty  Power  that  formed  it,  —  but 
give  me  rather  the  creature  to  sympathize  with ;  apportion  me 
the  sufferings  to  assuage.  Allegory  had  few  attractions  for 
me ;  believing  it  to  be  the  delight  in  general  of  idle,  frivolous, 
inexcursive  minds,  in  whose  mansions  there  is  neither  hall  nor 
portal  to  receive  the  loftier  of  the  passions.  A  stranger  to 
the  affections,  she  holds  a  low  station  among  the  handmaidens 
of  Poetry,  being  fit  for  little  but  an  apparition  in  a  mask.  I 
had  reflected  for  some  time  on  this  subject,  when,  wearied 
with  the  length  of  my  walk  over  the  mountains,  and  finding  a 
soft  old  mole-hill  covered  with  gray  grass  by  the  way- side,  I 
laid  my  head  upon  it,  and  slept.  I  cannot  tell  how  long  it  was 
before  a  species  of  dream,  or  vision,  came  over  me. 

Two  beautiful  youths  appeared  beside  me.  Each  was 
winged,  but  the  wings  were  hanging  down,  and  seemed  ill 
adapted  to  flight.  One  of  them,  whose  voice  was  the  softest  I 
ever  heard,  looking  at  me  frequently,  said  to  the  other,  "  He  is 
under  my  guardianship  for  the  present;  do  not  awaken  him 
with  that  feather."  Methought,  on  hearing  the  whisper,  I  saw 
something  like  the  feather  of  an  arrow,  and  then  the  arrow 


2QO  THE    DREAM    OF    PETRARCA. 

itself,  the  whole  of  it,  even  to  the  point,  although  he  carried 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  difficult  at  first  to  discover 
more  than  a  palm's  length  of  it ;  the  rest  of  the  shaft  (and  the 
whole  of  the  barb)  was  behind  his  ankles. 

"This  feather  never  awakens  any  one,"  replied  he,  rather 
petulantly ;  "  but  it  brings  more  of  confident  security  and 
more  of  cherished  dreams  than  you,  without  me,  are  capable 
of  imparting." 

"  Be  it  so,"  answered  the  gentler ;  "  none  is  less  inclined 
to  quarrel  or  dispute  than  I  am.  Many  whom  you  have 
wounded  grievously  call  upon  me  for  succor ;  but  so  little  am 
I  disposed  to  thwart  you,  it  is  seldom  I  venture  to  do  more  for 
them  than  to  whisper  a  few  words  of  comfort  in  passing.  How 
many  reproaches,  on  these  occasions,  have  been  cast  upon  me 
for  indifference  and  infidelity  !  Nearly  as  many,  and  nearly  in 
the  same  terms,  as  upon  you." 

"  Odd  enough,  that  we,  O  Sleep  !  should  be  thought  so 
alike  ! "  said  Love,  contemptuously.  "  Yonder  is  he  who 
bears  a  nearer  resemblance  to  you :  the  dullest  have  ob- 
served it." 

I  fancied  I  turned  my  eyes  to  where  he  was  pointing,  and 
saw  at  a  distance  the  figure  he  designated.  Meanwhile  the 
contention  went  on  uninterruptedly.  Sleep  was  slow  in  assert- 
ing his  power  or  his  benefits.  Love  recapitulated  them,  but 
only  that  he  might  assert  his  own  above  them.  Suddenly  he 
called  on  me  to  decide,  and  to  choose  my  patron.  Under  the 
influence  first  of  the  one,  then  of  the  other,  I  sprang  from 
repose  to  rapture,  I  alighted  from  rapture  on  repose,  and  knew 
not  which  was  sweetest.  Love  was  very  angry  with  me,  and 
declared  he  would  cross  me  throughout  the  whole  of  my 
existence.  Whatever  I  might  on  other  occasions  have  thought 
of  his  veracity,  I  now  felt  too  surely  the  conviction  that  he 
would  keep  his  word.  At  last,  before  the  close  of  the  alter- 
cation, the  third  Genius  had  advanced,  and  stood  near  us.  I 
cannot  tell  how  I  knew  him,  but  I  knew  him  to  be  the  Genius 
of  Death.  Breathless  as  I  was  at  beholding  him,  I  soon  be- 
came familiar  with  his  features.  First  they  seemed  only  calm  ; 
presently  they  grew  contemplative,  and  lastly  beautiful :  those 
of  the  Graces  themselves  are  less  regular,  less  harmonious,  less 
composed.  Love  glanced  at  him  unsteadily,  with  a  counte- 


THE    DREAM   OF    PETRARCA.  2QI 

nance  in  which  there  was  somewhat  of  anxiety,  somewhat  of 
disdain  ;  and  cried.  "  Go  away  !  go  away  !  Nothing  that  thou 
touchest,  lives." 

"Say,  rather,  child,"  replied  the  advancing  form,  and  ad- 
vancing grew  loftier  and  statelier,  —  "  say  rather  that  nothing  of 
beautiful  or  of  glorious  lives  its  own  true  life  until  my  wing 
hath  passed  over  it." 

Love  pouted,  and  rumpled  and  bent  down  with  his  fore- 
finger the  stiff  short  feathers  on  his  arrow-head,  but  replied 
not.  Although  he  frowned  worse  than  ever,  and  at  me,  I 
dreaded  him  less  and  less,  and  scarcely  looked  toward  him. 
The  milder  and  calmer  Genius,  the  third,  in  proportion  as  I 
took  courage  to  contemplate  him,  regarded  me  with  more  and 
more  complacency.  He  held  neither  flower  nor  arrow,  as  the 
others  did ;  but  throwing  back  the  clusters  of  dark  curls  that 
overshadowed  his  countenance,  he  presented  to  me  his  hand, 
openly  and  benignly.  I  shrank  on  looking  at  him  so  near; 
and  yet  I  sighed  to  love  him.  He  smiled,  not  without  an 
expression  of  pity,  at  perceiving  my  diffidence,  my  timidity,  — 
for  I  remembered  how  soft  was  the  hand  of  Sleep,  how  warm 
and  entrancing  was  Love's.  By  degrees  I  grew  ashamed  of 
my  ingratitude  ;  and  turning  my  face  away,  I  held  out  my  arms, 
and  felt  my  neck  within  his.  Composure  allayed  all  the 
throbbings  of  my  bosom,  the  coolness  of  freshest  morning 
breathed  around,  the  heavens  seemed  to  open  above  me, 
while  the  beautiful  cheek  of  my  deliverer  rested  on  my  head. 
I  would  now  have  looked  for  those  others ;  but  knowing  my 
intention  by  my  gesture  he  said  consolatorily,  "  Sleep  is  on  his 
way  to  the  earth,  where  many  are  calling  him ;  but  it  is  not  to 
them  he  hastens,  for  every  call  only  makes  him  fly  farther  off. 
Sedate  and  grave  as  he  looks,  he  is  nearly  as  capricious  and 
volatile  as  the  more  arrogant  and  ferocious  one." 

"And  Love,"  said  I,  "  whither  is  he  departed?  If  not  too 
late,  I  would  propitiate  and  appease  him." 

"  He  who  cannot  follow  me,  he  who  cannot  overtake  and 
pass  me,"  said  the  Genius,  "  is  unworthy  of  the  name,  the 
most  glorious  in  earth  or  heaven.  Look  up  !  Love  is  yonder, 
and  ready  to  receive  thee." 

I  looked.  The  earth  was  under  me  :  I  saw  only  the  clear 
blue  sky,  and  something  brighter  above  it. 


X.     PARABLE   OF   ASABEL. 

CHAPTER   I. 

ASABEL  in  his  youth  had  been  of  those  who  place  their  trust 
in  God,  and  he  prospered  in  the  land,  and  many  of  his  friends 
did  partake  of  his  prosperity.  After  a  length  of  years  it  came 
to  pass  that  he  took  less  and  less  delight  in  the  manifold  gifts 
of  God,  for  that  his  heart  grew  fat  within  him,  and  knew  not 
any  work-day  for  its  work ;  nor  did  thankfulness  enter  into  it, 
as  formerly,  to  awake  the  sluggard. 

Nevertheless  did  Asabel  praise  and  glorify  the  Almighty 
both  morning  and  evening,  and  did  pray  unto  Him  for  the  con- 
tinuance and  increase  of  His  loving  mercies,  and  did  call  him- 
self, as  the  godly  are  wont  to  do,  miserable  sinner,  and  leper 
and  worm  and  dust.  And  all  men  did  laud  Asabel,  inasmuch 
as,  being  clothed  in  purple  and  smelling  of  spikenard,  he  was 
a  leper  and  worm  and  dust.  And  many  did  come  from  far 
regions  to  see  that  dust  and  that  worm  and  that  leper,  and  did 
marvel  at  him,  and  did  bow  their  heads,  and  did  beseech  of 
God  that  they  might  be  like  unto  him.  But  God  inclined  not 
his  ear ;  and  they  returned  unto  their  own  country. 

CHAPTER    II. 

And  behold  it  came  to  pass  that  an  angel  from  above  saw 
Asabel  go  forth  from  his  house.  And  the  angel  did  enter,  and 
did  seat  himself  on  the  seat  of  Asabel. 

After  a  while,  a  shower  fell  in  sunny  drops  upon  the  plane- 
tree  at  the  gate,  and  upon  the  hyssop  thereby,  and  over  the 
field  nigh  unto  the  dwelling.  Whereupon  did  Asabel  hasten 
him  back  ;  and  coming  into  the  doorway  he  saw  another  seated 
upon  his  seat,  who  arose  not  before  him,  but  said  only,  "  Peace 
be  unto  thee  !  " 


PARABLE    OF    ASABEL. 

Asabel  was  wroth,  and  said,  "  Lo  !  the  rain  abateth,  the 
sun  shineth  through  it ;  if  thou  wilt  eat  bread,  eat ;  if  thou 
wilt  drink  water,  drink ;  but  having  assuaged  thy  hunger  and 
thy  thirst,  depart !  " 

Then  said  the  angel  unto  Asabel,  "  I  will  neither  eat  bread 
nor  drink  water  under  thy  roof,  O  Asabel !  forasmuch  as  thou 
didst  send  therefrom  the  master  whom  I  serve." 

And  now  the  wrath  of  Asabel  waxed  hotter,  and  he  said, 
"  Neither  thy  master  nor  the  slave  of  thy  master  have  I  sent 
away,  not  knowing  nor  having,  seen  either." 

Then  rose  the  angel  from  the  seat,  and  spake  :  "  Asabel, 
Asabel !  thy  God  hath  filled  thy  house  with  plenteousness. 
Hath  he  not  verily  done  this  and  more  unto  thee?  " 

And  Asabel  answered  him,  and  said  :  "  Verily  the  Lord  my 
God  hath  done  this  and  more  unto  his  servant ;  blessed  be  his 
name  forever ! " 

Again  spake  the  angel :  "  He  hath  given  thee  a  name  among 
thy  people ;  and  many  by  his  guidance  have  come  unto  thee 
for  counsel  and  for  aid." 

"  Counsel  have  I  given,  aid  also  have  I  given,"  said  Asabel ; 
"  and  neither  he  who  received  it  nor  he  who  gave  it,  hath  re- 
pented himself  thereof." 

Then  answered  the  angel :  "  The  word  that  thou  spakest  is 
indeed  the  true  word.  But  answer  me  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord  thy  God.  Hath  not  thy  soul  been  farther  from  him  as 
thy  years  and  his  benefits  increased  ?  The  more  wealth  and 
the  more  wisdom  (in  thy  estimation  of  it)  he  bestowed  upon 
thee,  hast  thou  not  been  the  more  proud,  the  more  selfish, 
the  more  disinclined  to  listen  unto  the  sorrows  and  wrongs 
of  men?  " 

And  Asabel  gazed  upon  him,  and  was  angered  that  a  youth 
should  have  questioned  him,  and  thought  it  a  shame  that  the 
eyes  of  the  young  should  see  into  the  secrets  of  the  aged ;  and 
stood  reproved  before  him. 

But  the  angel  took  him  by  the  hand  and  spake  thus  :  "  Asa- 
bel, behold  the  fruit  of  all  the  good  seed  thy  God  hath  given 
thee,  —  pride  springing  from  wealth,  obduracy  from  years,  and 
from  knowledge  itself  uncontrollable  impatience  and  inflexible 
perversity.  Couldst  thou  not  have  employed  these  things  much 
better?  Again  I  say  it,  thou  hast  driven  out  the  God  that 


294  PARABLE    OF    ASABEL. 

dwelt  with  thee  ;  that  dwelt  within  thy  house,  within  thy  breast ; 
that  gave  thee  much  for  thyself,  and  intrusted  thee  with  more 
for  others.  Having  seen  thee  abuse,  revile,  and  send  him  thus 
away  from  thee,  what  wonder  that  I,  who  am  but  the  lowest  of 
his  ministers,  and  who  have  bestowed  no  gifts  upon  thee,  should 
be  commanded  to  depart !  " 

Asabel  covered  his  eyes,  and  when  he  raised  them  up  again, 
the  angel  no  longer  was  before  him.  "  Of  a  truth,"  said  he, 
and  smote  his  breast,  "  it  was  the  angel  of  the  Lord."  And 
then  did  he  shed  tears.  But  they  fell  into  his  bosom,  after  a 
while,  like  refreshing  dew,  bitter  as  were  the  first  of  them  ;  and 
his  heart  grew  young  again,  and  felt  the  head  that  rested  on  it ; 
and  the  weary  in  spirit  knew,  as  they  had  known  before,  the 
voice  of  Asabel. 

Thus  wrought  the  angel's  gentleness  upon  Asabel,  even  as 
the  quiet  and  silent  water  wins  itself  an  entrance  where  tempest 
and  fire  pass  over.  It  is  written  that  other  angels  did  look  up 
with  loving  and  admiration  into  the  visage  of  this  angel  on  his 
return ;  and  he  told  the  younger  and  more  zealous  of  them, 
that,  whenever  they  would  descend  into  the  gloomy  vortex  of 
the  human  heart,  under  the  softness  and  serenity  of  their  voice 
and  countenance  its  turbulence  would  subside.  "  Beloved  !  " 
said  the  angel,  "  there  are  portals  that  open  to  the  palm- 
branches  we  carry,  and  that  close  at  the  flaming  sword." 


XI.    JERIBOHANIAH. 

JERIBOHANIAH  sat  in  his  tent,  and  was  grieved  and  silent, 
for  years  had  stricken  him.  And  behold  there  came  and  stood 
before  him  a  man  who  also  was  an  aged  man,  who  howbeit 
was  not  grieved,  neither  was  he  silent.  Nevertheless,  until 
Jeribohaniah  spake  unto  him,  spake  not  he. 

But  Jeribohaniah  had  always  been  one  of  ready  speech  ;  nor 
verily  had  age  minished  his  words,  nor  the  desire  of  his  heart 
to  question  the  stranger.  Wherefore  uttered  he  first  what 
stirred  within  him,  saying,  "  Methinks  thou  comest  from  a  far 
country  :  now  what  country  may  that  be  whence  thou  comest  ?  " 

And  the  stranger  named  by  name  the  country  whence  his 
feet,  together  with  the  staff  of  his  right  hand,  had  borne  him. 

"  Bad,  exceeding  bad,  and  stinking  in  our  nostrils,"  said 
Jeribohaniah,  "  is  that  country  !  Nevertheless  mayest  thou 
enter  and  eat  within  my  tent,  and  welcome,  seeing  that  thy 
scrip  hangeth  down  to  thy  girdle,  round  and  large  as  hangeth 
the  gourd  in  the  days  of  autumn ;  and  it  is  fitting  and  right 
that  if  I  give  unto  thee  of  mine,  so  likewise  thou  of  thine,  in 
due  proportion,  give  unto  me ;  and  the  rather,  forasmuch  as 
my  tent  containeth  few  things  within  it,  and  thy  wallet  (I 
guess)  abundant." 

Whereupon  did  Jeribohaniah  step  forward,  and  strive  to 
touch  with  his  right  hand  the  top  of  the  wallet,  and  the  bottom 
with  his  left.  But  the  stranger  drew  back  therefrom,  saying, 
"  Nay." 

Then  Jeribohaniah  waxed  wroth,  and  would  have  smitten 
the  stranger  at  the  tent,  asking  him  in  his  indignation  why  he 
drew  back,  and  wherefore  he  withheld  the  wallet  from  the  most 
just,  the  most  potent,  the  most  intelligent,  and  the  most  vener- 
able of  mankind  !  Whereupon  the  stranger  answered  him  and 
said,  "  Far  from  thy  servant  be  all  strife  and  wrangling,  all 


296  JERIBOHANIAH. 

doubt  and  suspicion.  Verily  he  hath  much  praised  thee,  even 
until  this  day,  unto  those  among  whom  he  was  born  and  abided. 
And  when  some  spake  evil  of  thee  and  of  thine,  then  did  thy 
servant,  even  I  who  stand  before  thee,  say  unto  them,  *  Tarry  ! 
I  will  myself  go  forth  unto  Jeribohaniah,  and  see  unto  his  ways, 
and  report  unto  ye  truly  what  they  be.'  " 

"  And  now  I  guess,"  quoth  Jeribohaniah,  "  thou  wouldst  re- 
turn and  tell  them  the  old  story,  —  how  I  and  my  children 
have  lusted  after  the  goods  of  other  men,  and  have  taken 
them.  Now,  we  only  took  the  goods, — the  men  took  we  not ; 
yet  so  rebellious  and  ungrateful  were  they  that  we  were  fain  to 
put  them  to  the  edge  of  the  sword.  And  thus  did  we.  And 
lest  another  such  generation  of  vipers  should  spring  up  in  the 
wilderness  beyond  them,  we  sent  onward  just  men,  who  should 
turn  and  harrow  the  soil,  and  put  likewise  to  the  edge  of  the 
sword  such  as  would  hinder  us  in  doing  what  is  lawful  and 
right;  namely,  that  which  our  wills  ordained.  To  prevent 
such  an  extremity,  our  prudence  and  humanity  led  us,  under 
God,  to  detain  the  silver  and  gold  intrusted  to  us  by  the  most 
suspicious  and  spiteful  of  our  enemies.  And  now  thou  art  ad- 
mitted into  my  confidence,  lay  down  thy  scrip,  and  eat  and 
drink  freely." 

"  Pleaseth  it  thee,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  that  I  carry  back 
unto  my  own  country  what  thou  hast  related  unto  me  as  seem- 
ing good  in  thine  eyes?  " 

"  Carry  back  what  thou  wilt,"  calmly  said  Jeribohaniah, 
"  save  only  that  which  my  sons,  whose  long  shadows  are  now 
just  behind  thee,  may  hold  back." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  the  sons  entered  the  tent, 
and,  occupying  all  the  seats,  bade  the  stranger  be  seated  and 
welcome.  Venison  brought  they  forth  in  deep  dishes ;  wine 
also  poured  they  out,  and  they  drank  unto  his  health.  And 
when  they  had  wiped  their  lips  with  the  back  of  the  hand, 
which  the  Lord  in  his  wisdom  had  made  hairy  for  that  pur- 
pose, they  told  the  stranger  that  other  strangers  had  blamed 
curiosity  in  their  kindred  ;  and  that  they  might  not  be  reproved 
for  it,  they  would  ask  no  questions  as  to  what  might  peradven- 
ture  be  contained  within  the  scrip,  but  would  look  into  it  at 
their  leisure. 

Jeribohaniah  told  his  guest  that  they  were  wild    lads,  and 


JERIBOHANIAH.  297 

would  have  their   way.     He   then   looked    more   gravely  and 
seriously,  saying, — 

"  Everything  in  this  mortal  life  ends  better  than  we  short- 
sighted creatures  could  have  believed  or  hoped.  Providence 
hath  sent  us  back  those  boys  purely  that  thy  mission  might  be 
accomplished.  Unless  they  had  come  home  in  due  time,  how 
little  wouldst  thou  have  had  to  relate  to  thy  own  tribe  con- 
cerning us,  save  only  what  others,  envying  our  probity  and 
prosperity,  and  far  behind  us  in  wisdom  and  enterprise,  have 
discoursed  about,  year  after  year?" 


CRITICISMS 

ON 

THEOCRITUS,    CATULLUS,    AND    PETRARCA. 


CRITICISMS. 


THE  IDYLS  OF  THEOCRITUS. 

WITHIN  the  last  half-century  the  Germans  have  given  us 
several  good  editions  of  Theocritus.  That  of  Augustus  Meine- 
kius,  to  which  the  very  inferior  and  very  different  poems  of 
Bion  and  Moschus  are  appended,  is  among  the  best  and  the 
least  presuming.  No  version  is  added ;  the  notes  are  few  and 
pertinent,  never  pugnacious,  never  prolix.  In  no  age,  since 
the  time  of  Aristarchus  or  before,  has  the  Greek  language  been 
so  profoundly  studied,  or  its  poetry  in  its  nature  and  metre  so 
perfectly  understood,  as  in  ours.  Neither  Athens  nor  Alexan- 
dria saw  so  numerous  or  so  intelligent  a  race  of  grammarians  as 
Germany  has  recently  seen  contemporary.  Nor  is  the  society 
diminished,  nor  are  its  labors  relaxed  at  this  day.  Valckenaer, 
Schrieber,  Schaeffer,  Kiesling,  Wuesteman,  are  not  the  only 
critics  and  editors  who,  before  the  present  one,  have  bestowed 
their  care  and  learning  on  Theocritus. 

Doubts  have  long  been  entertained  upon  the  genuineness  of 
several  among  his  Idyls.  But  latterly  a  vast  number,  even  of 
those  which  had  never  been  disputed,  have  been  called  in 
question  by  Ernest  Reinhold,  in  a  treatise  printed  at  Jena  in 
1819.  He  acknowledges  the  first  eleven,  the  thirteenth,  four- 
teenth, fifteenth,  sixteenth,  and  eighteenth.  Against  the  arbi- 
trary ejection  of  the  remainder  rose  Augustus  Wissowa  in  1828. 
In  his  "  Theocritus  Theocritoeus,"  vindicating  them  from  sus- 
picion, he  subjoins  to  his  elaborate  criticism  a  compendious 
index  of  ancient  quotations,  in  none  of  which  is  any  doubt  en- 
tertained of  their  authenticity.  But  surely  it  requires  no  force 
of  argument,  no  call  for  extraneous  help,  to  subvert  the  feeble 


3O2  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

position,  that,  because  the  poet  wrote  his  Pastorals  mostly  in 
his  native  dialect  (the  Doric),  he  can  never  have  written  in 
another.  If  he  composed  the  eighteenth  Idyl  in  the  JEolic, 
why  may  he  not  be  allowed  the  twelfth  and  twenty- second  in 
the  Ionic?  Not,  however,  that  in  the  twelfth  he  has  done  it 
uniformly :  the  older  manuscripts  of  this  poem  contain  fewer 
forms  of  that  dialect  than  were  afterward  foisted  into  it,  for 
the  sake  of  making  it  all  of  a  piece.  It  is  easy  to  believe  that 
the  Idyls  he  wrote  in  Sicily  were  Doric,  with  inconsiderable 
variations,  and  that  he  thought  it  more  agreeable  to  Hiero, 
whose  favor  he  was  desirous  of  conciliating.  But  when  he  re- 
tired from  Sicily  to  the  court  of  Ptolemy,  where  Callimachus 
and  Apollonius  and  Aratus  were  residing,  he  would  not  on 
every  occasion  revert  to  an  idiom  little  cultivated  in  Egypt. 
Not  only  to  avoid  the  charge  of  rivalry  with  the  poets  who  were 
then  flourishing  there,  but  also  from  sound  judgment,  he  wrote 
heroic  poetry  in  Homeric  verse,  —  in  verse  no  less  Ionic  than 
Homer's  own  ;  indeed,  more  purely  so. 

Thirty  of  his  poems  are  entitled  IDYLS,  —  in  short  all  but  the 
Epigrams,  however  different  in  length,  in  subject,  and  in  metre. 
But  who  gave  them  this  appellation,  or  whence  was  it  derived? 
We  need  go  up  no  higher  than  to  etSos  for  the  derivation,  and 
it  is  probable  that  the  poet  himself  supplied  the  title.  But  did 
he  give  it  to  all  his  compositions,  or  even  to  all  those  (except- 
ing the  Epigrams)  which  are  now  extant  ?  We  think  he  did 
not,  although  we  are  unsupported  in  our  opinion  by  the  old 
scholiast  who  wrote  the  arguments.  "  The  poet,"  says  he,  "  did 
not  wish  to  specify  his  pieces  but  ranged  them  all  under  one 
title"  We  believe  that  he  ranged  what  he  thought  the  more 
important  and  the  more  epic  under  this  category,  and  that  he 
omitted  to  give  any  separate  designation  to  the  rest,  prefixing  to 
each  piece  (it  may  be)  its  own  title.  Nay,  it  appears  to  us  not 
at  all  improbable  that  those  very  pieces  which  we  moderns  call 
more  peculiarly  Idyls,  were  not  comprehended  by  him  in  this 
designation.  We  believe  that  etSvAXiov  means  a  small  image 
of  something  greater,  and  that  it  was  especially  applied  at  first 
to  his  short  poems  of  the  heroic  cast  and  character.  As  the 
others  had  no  genuine  name  denoting  their  quality,  but  only 
the  names  of  the  interlocutors  or  the  subjects  (which  the  an- 
cient poets,  both  Greek  and  Roman,  oftener  omitted),  they 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  303 

were  all  after  a  while  comprehended  in  a  mass  within  one  com- 
mon term.  That  the  term  was  invented  long  after  the  age  of 
Theocritus,  is  the  opinion  of  Heine  and  of  Wissowa ;  but  where 
is  the  proof  of  the  fact,  or  foundation  for  the  conjecture  ?  No- 
body has  denied  that  it  existed  in  the  time  of  Virgil ;  and  many 
have  wondered  that  he  did  not  thus  entitle  his  Bucolics,  instead 
of  calling  them  Eclogues.  And  so  indeed  he  probably  would 
have  done,  had  he  believed  that  Theocritus  intended  any  such 
designation  for  his  Pastorals.  But  neither  he  nor  Calpurnius, 
nor  Nemesian,  called  by  the  name  of  Idyl  their  bucolic  poems ; 
which  they  surely  would  have  done  if,  in  their  opinion  or  in  the 
opinion  of  the  public,  it  was  applicable  to  them.  It  was  not 
thought  so  when  literature  grew  up  again  in  Italy,  and  when 
the  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  recovered  their  lost  estates 
in  the  provinces  of  poetry,  under  the  patronage  of  Petrarca, 
Boccaccio,  Pontanus,  and  Mantuanus. 

Eobanus  Hessus,  a  most  voluminous  writer  of  Latin  verses, 
has  translated  much  from  the  Greek  classics,  and  among  the 
rest  some  pieces  from  Theocritus.  From  time  to  time  we  have 
spent  several  hours  of  idleness  over  his  pages ;  but  the  farther 
we  proceeded,  whatever  was  the  direction,  the  duller  and 
drearier  grew  his  unprofitable  pine-forest,  the  more  wearisome 
and  disheartening  his  flat  and  printless  sands.  After  him, 
Bruno  Sidelius,  another  German,  was  the  first  of  the  moderns 
who  conferred  the  name  of  Idyl  on  their  Bucolics.  As  this 
word  was  enlarged  in  its  acceptation,  so  was  another  in  another 
kind  of  poetry ;  namely,  the  Paean,  which  at  first  was  appro- 
priated to  Apollo  and  Artemis,  but  was  afterward  transferred  to 
other  deities.  Servius,  on  the  first  ^Eneid,  tells  us  that  Pindar 
not  only  composed  one  on  Zeus  of  Dodona,  but  several  in 
honor  of  mortals.  The  same  may  be  said  ot  the  Dithyrambic. 
Elegy  too,  in  the  commencement,  was  devoted  to  grief  exclu- 
sively, like  the  nania  and  thrence.  Subsequently  it  embraced 
a  vast  variety  of  matters,  some  of  them  ethic  and  didactic ; 
some  the  very  opposite  to  its  institution,  inciting  to  war  and 
patriotism,  for  instance  those  of  Tyrtaeus ;  and  some  to  love 
and  licentiousness,  in  which  Mimnermus  has  been  followed 
by  innumerable  disciples  to  the  extremities  of  the  earth. 

Before  we  inspect  the  Idyls  of  Theocritus,  one  by  one,  as  we 
intend  to  do,  it  may  be  convenient  in  this  place  to  recapitulate 


304  THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS. 

what  little  is  known  about  him.  He  tells  us,  in  the  epigraph 
to  them,  that  there  was  another  poet  of  the  same  name,  a 
native  of  Chios,  but  that  he  himself  was  a  Syracusan  of  low 
origin,  son  of  Praxagoras  and  Philina.  He  calls  his  mother 
TrcpifcXciTT/  (illustrious),  evidently  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  the  verse  required  it.  There  is  no  ground  for  disbe- 
lieving what  he  records  of  his  temper, —  that  he  never  was 
guilty  of  detraction.  His  exact  age  is  unknown,  and  unimpor- 
tant. One  of  the  Idyls  is  addressed  to  the  younger  Hiero, 
another  to  Ptolemy  Philadelphus.  The  former  of  these  began 
his  reign  in  the  one  hundred  and  twenty- sixth  Olympiad,  the 
latter  in  the  one  hundred  and  twenty-third.  In  the  sixteenth 
Idyl  the  poet  insinuates  that  the  valor  of  Hiero  was  more  con- 
spicuous than  his  liberality ;  on  Ptolemy  he  never  had  reason 
to  make  any  such  remark.  Among  his  friends  in  Egypt  was 
Aratus,  of  whom  Cicero  and  Caesar  thought  highly,  and  of 
whose  works  both  of  them  translated  some  parts.  Philetus  the 
Coan  was  another ;  and  his  merit  must  also  have  been  great, 
for  Propertius  joins  him  with  Callimachus,  and  asks  permission 
to  enter  the  sacred  grove  of  poetry  in  their  company,  — 

"  Callimachi  manes  et  Coi  sacra  Philetae  ! 
In  vestrum  quaeso  me  sinite  ire  nemus." 

It  appears,  however,  that  Aratus  was  more  particularly  and 
intimately  Theocritus's  friend.  To  him  he  inscribes  the  sixth 
Idyl,  describes  his  loves  in  the  seventh,  and  borrows  from  him 
the  religious  exordium  of  the  seventeenth.  After  he  had 
resided  several  years  in  Egypt,  he  returned  to  his  native 
country,  and  died  there. 

We  now  leave  the  man  for  the  writer,  and  in  this  capacity 
we  have  a  great  deal  more  to  say.  The  poems  we  possess 
from  him  are  only  a  part,  although  probably  the  best,  of  what 
he  wrote.  He  composed  hymns,  elegies,  and  iambics.  Her- 
mann, in  his  dissertation  on  hexameter  verse,  expresses  his 
wonder  that  Virgil,  in  the  Eclogues,  should  have  deserted  the 
practice  of  Theocritus  in  its  structure ;  and  he  remarks,  for 
instance,  the  first  in  the  first  Idyl, — 

'ASu  rt  rb  fyidvpi<T/j.a  Kal  a  TTLTVS  •  .  .  a.lir&Ke  TTJj/a. 

This  pause,  however,  is  almost  as  frequent  in  Homer  as  in 
Theocritus;  and  it  is  doubtful  to  us,  who  indeed  have  not 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  305 

counted  the  examples,  whether  any  other  pause  occurs  so  often 
in  the  Iliad.  In  reading  this  verse,  we  do  not  pause  after 
TUTUS,  but  after  i/a#upioy/.u  ;  but  in  the  verses  which  the  illus- 
trious critic  quotes  from  Homer  the  pause  is  precisely  in  that 
place,  — 

.cv  TO.  irpura  Kopvcra'eTai  .  .  .  avrap 


Although  the  pause  is  greatly  more  common  in  the  Greek 
hexameter  than  in  the  Latin,  yet  Hermann  must  have  taken  up 
Virgil's  Eclogues  very  inattentively  in  making  his  remark. 
For  that  which  he  wonders  the  Roman  has  imitated  so  spar- 
ingly from  the  Syracusan  occurs  quite  frequently  enough  in 
Virgil,  and  rather  too  frequently  in  Theocritus.  It  may  be 
tedious  to  the  inaccurate  and  negligent  ;  it  may  be  tedious  to 
those  whose  reading  is  only  a  species  of  dissipation,  and  to 
whom  ears  have  been  given  only  as  ornaments  ;  nevertheless, 
for  the  sake  of  others,  we  have  taken  some  trouble  to  establish 
our  position  in  regard  to  the  Eclogues,  and  the  instances  are 
given  below  :  — 

Eel.  I  ,  containing  83  verses. 

Namque  erit  ille  mihi  semper  deus  .  .  . 
Non  equidem  invideo,  miror  magis  .  .  . 
Ite  meae,  felix  quondam,  pecus  .  .  . 

Eel.  II.    73  verses. 

Atque  superba  pati  fastidia  .  .  . 
Cum  placidum  ventis  staret  mare  .  .  . 
Bina  die  siccant  ovis  ubera  .  .  . 
Heu,  heu  !  quid  volui  misero  mihi  .  .  , 

Eel.  III.     in  verses. 

Die  mihi,  Damoeta,  cujum  pecus  .  .  . 
Infelix,  O  semper  oves  pecus  .  .  . 
Et,  si  non  aliqua  nocuisses  .  .  . 
Si  nescis,  meus  ille  caper  fuit  .  .  . 
Bisque  die  numerant  ambo  pecus  .  .  . 
Parta  meae  Veneri  sunt  munera  .  .  . 
Pollio  et  ipse  facit  nova  carmina  .  .  . 
Parcite,  oves,  nimium  procedere  .  .  . 

Eel.  V.     90  verses. 

Sive  antro  potius  succedimus  .  .  . 
Frigida,  Daphni,  boves  ad  flumina  .  .  . 
20 


3O6  THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS. 

Quale  sopor  fessis  in  gramine  .  .  . 
Haec  eadem  clocuit  cujum  pecus  .  .  . 

Eel.  VI.    86  verses. 

Cum  canerem  reges  et  praelia  .  .  . 
^Egle  Na'iadum  pulcherrima  .  .  . 
Carmina  quae  vultis  cognoscite  .  .  . 
Aut  aliquam  in  magno  sequitur  grege 
Errabunda  bo  vis  vestigia  .  .  . 
Quo  cursu  deserta  petiverit  .  .  . 

Eel.  VII.     70  verses. 

Ambo  florentes  aetatibus  .  .  . 
Vir  gregis  ipse  caper  deerraverat  .  .  . 
Aspicio  ;  ille  ubi  me  contra  videt  .  .  . 
Nymphae  noster  amor  Lebethrides 
Quale  meo  Codro  concedite  .  .  . 
Setosi  caput  hoc  apri  tibi  .  .  . 
Ite  domum  pasti,  si  quis  pudor  .  .  . 
Aut  si  ultra  placitum  laudarit  .  .  . 
Si  foetura  gregem  suppleverit  .  . . 
Solstitium  pecori  defendite  .  .  . 
Populus  Alcidae  gratissima  .  .  . 
Fraxinus  in  sylvis  pulcherrima. 

Eel.  VIII.     109  verses. 

Sive  oram  Illyrici  legis  aequoris  .  .  . 
A  te  principium,  tibi  desinet  .  .  . 
Carmina  coepta  tuis,  atque  hac  sine  .  . 
Nascere  praeque  diem  veniens  age  .  .  . 
Omnia  vel  medium  fiant  mare  .  .  . 
Desine  Msenalios  jam  desine  .  .  . 
Ducite  ab  urbe  domum,  mea  carmina  . 
Transque  caput  jace  ;  ne  respexeris  .  . 

Eel.  IX.    67  verses. 

Heu  cadit  in  quemquam  tantum  scelus 
Tityre  dum  redeo,  brevis  est  via  .  .  . 
Et  potum  pastas  age  Tityre  .  .  . 
Pierides,  sunt  et  mihi  carmina  .  . . 
Omnia  fert  aetas,  animum  quoque  .  . . 
Nunc  oblita  mini  tot  carmina  .  .  . 
Hinc  adeo  media  est  nobis  via  .  . . 
Incipit  apparere  Bianoris  .  .  . 

Eel.  X.    77  verses. 

Nam  neque  Parnassi,  vobis  juga  .  .  . 
Omnes  unde  amor  iste  rogant  tibi  .  .  , 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  307 

Instances  of  the  cadence  are  not  wanting  in  the  ^Eneid. 
The  fourth  book,  the  most  elaborate  of  all,  exhibits  them,  — 

"  Tempora,  quis  rebus  dexter  modus  "... 
And  again  in  the  last  lines,  with  only  one  interposed,  — 

"  Devolat,  et  supra  caput  adstitit  .  .  . 
Sic  ait  et  dextra  crinem  secat." 

In  Theocritus  it  is  not  this  usage  which  is  so  remarkable ;  it 
is  the  abundance  and  exuberance  of  dactyls.  They  hurry  on 
one  after  another,  like  the  waves  of  a  clear  and  rapid  brook  in 
the  sunshine,  reflecting  all  things  the  most  beautiful  in  Nature, 
but  not  resting  upon  any. 

IDYL  I.  Of  all  the  poetry  in  all  languages,  that  of  Theocri- 
tus is  the  most  fluent  and  easy ;  but  if  only  this  Idyl  were  ex- 
tant, it  would  rather  be  memorable  for  a  weak  imitation  of  it 
by  Virgil  and  a  beautiful  one  by  Milton,  than  for  any  great 
merit  beyond  the  harmony  of  its  verse.  Indeed,  it  opens  with 
such  sounds  as  Pan  himself  in  a  prelude-  on  his  pipe  might  have 
produced.  The  dialogue  is  between  Thyrsis  and  a  goatherd. 
Here  is  much  of  appropriate  description ;  but  it  appears  un- 
suitable* to  the  character  and  condition  of  a  goatherd  to  offer 
so  large  a  reward  as  he  offers  for  singing  a  song.  "  If  you 
will  sing  as  you  sang  in  the  contest  with  the  Libyan  shepherd 
Chromis,  I  will  reward  you  with  a  goat,  mother  of  two  kids, 
which  goat  you  may  milk  thrice  a  day ;  for  though  she  suckles 
two  kids,  she  has  milk  enough  left  for  two  pails." 

We  often  hear  that  such  or  such  a  thing  "  is  not  worth  an  old 
song."  Alas,  how  very  few  things  are  !  What  precious  recol- 
lections do  some  of  them  awaken  !  What  pleasurable  tears  do 
they  excite  !  They  purify  the  stream  of  life  ;  they  can  delay 
it  on  its  shelves  and  rapids  ;  they  can  turn  it  back  again  to  the 
soft  moss  amidst  which  its  sources  issue. 

But  we  must  not  so  suddenly  quit  the  generous  goatherd ; 
we  must  not  turn  our  backs  on  him  for  the  sake  of  indulging 
in  these  reflections.  He  is  ready  to  give  not  only  a  marvel- 
lously fine  goat  for  the  repetition  of  a  song,  but  a  commodity 
of  much  higher  value  in  addition,  —  a  deep  capacious  cup  of 
the  most  elaborate  workmanship,  carved  and  painted  in  several 
compartments.  Let  us  look  closely  at  these. 


308  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

The  first  contains  a  woman  in  a  veil  and  fillet ;  near  her  are 
two  young  suitors  who  throw  fierce  words  one  against  the  other  : 
she  never  minds  them,  but  smiles  upon  each  alternately.  Surely 
no  cup,  not  even  a  magical  one,  could  express  all  this  !  But 
they  continue  to  carry  on  their  ill-will. 

In  the  next  place  is  an  old  fisherman  on  a  rock,  from  which 
he  is  hauling  his  net.  Not  far  from  him  is  a  vineyard,  laden 
with  purple  grapes.  A  little  boy  is  watching  them  near  the 
boundary-hedge,  while  a  couple  of  foxes  are  about  their  busi- 
ness, —  one  walking  through  the  rows  of  vines,  picking  out  the 
ripe  grapes  as  he  goes  along ;  the  other  devising  mischief  to 
the  boy's  wallet,  and  declaring  on  the  word  of  a  fox  that  he 
will  never  quit  the  premises  until  he  has  captured  the  breakfast 
therein  deposited. 

The  song  is  deferred  no  longer,  —  and  a  capital  song  it  is ; 
but  the  goatherd  has  well  paid  the  piper.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
transcribe  the  verses  which  Virgil  and  Milton  have  imitated  : 

"Nam  neque  Parnassi  vobis  juga  nam  neque  Pindi 
Ulla  moram  facere,  neque  Aonia  Aganippe." 

Virgil  himself,  on  the  present  occasion,  was  certainly  not  de- 
tained in  any  of  these  places.  Let  us  try  whether  we  cannot 
come  toward  the  original  with  no  greater  deviation,  and  some- 
what less  dulness  :  — 

"  Where  were  ye,  O  ye  nymphs,  when  Daphnis  died? 
For  not  on  Pindus  were  ye,  nor  beside 
Peneus  in  his  softer  glades,  nor  where 
Acis  might  well  expect  you,  once  your  care. 
But  neither  Acis  did  your  steps  detain, 
Nor  strong  Anapus  rushing  forth  amain, 
Nor  high-browed  Etna  with  her  forest  chain." 

Harmonious  as  are  the  verses  of  Theocritus,  the  Greek  lan- 
guage itself  could  not  bear  him  above  Milton  in  his  "  Lycidas." 
He  had  the  good  sense  to  imitate  the  versification  of  Tasso's 
"  Aminta,"  employing  rhyme  where  it  is  ready  at  hand,  and 
permitting  his  verses  to  be  longer  or  shorter,  as  may  happen. 
They  are  never  deficient  in  sweetness,  taken  separately,  and 
never  at  the  close  of  a  sentence  disappoint  us.  However,  we 
cannot  but  regret  the  clashing  of  irreconcilable  mythologies. 
Neither  in  a  poem  nor  in  a  picture  do  we  see  willingly  the 
Nymphs  and  the  Druids  together ;  Saint  Peter  comes  even  more 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  309 

inopportunely ;  and  although  in  the  midst  of  such  scenery  we 
may  be  prepared  against  wolves  with  their  own  heads  and 
"  maws  "  and  "  privy  paws,"  yet  we  deprecate  them  when  they 
appear  with  a  bishop's :  they  are  then  an  over-match  for  us. 
The  ancients  could  not  readily  run  into  such  errors ;  yet 
something  of  a  kind  not  very  dissimilar  may  be  objected  to 
Virgil,— 

"  Venit  Apollo, 
1  Galle,  quid  insanis  ? '  inquit." 

When  the  poet  says,  "  Cynthius  aurem  vellit  et  admonuit,"  we 
are  aware  that  it  is  merely  a  form  of  phraseology ;  but  among 
those  who  in  Virgil's  age  believed  in  Apollo,  not  one  believed 
that  he  held  a  conversation  with  Gallus.  The  time  for  these 
familiarities  of  gods  with  mortals  had  long  been  over,  — 

"  Nee  se  contingi  patiuntur  lumine  claro." 

There  was  only  one  of  them  who  could  still  alight  without  sus- 
picion among  the  poets.  Phoebus  had  become  a  mockery,  a 
by-word ;  but  there  never  will  be  a  time  probably  when  Love 
shall  lose  his  personality,  or  be  wished  out  of  the  way  if  he  has 
crept  into  a  poem.  But  the  poem  must  be  a  little  temple  ot 
his  own,  admitting  no  other  occupant  or  agent  besides  himself 
and  (at  most)  two  worshippers. 

To  return  to  this  first  Idyl.  Theocritus  may  be  censured 
for  representing  a  continuity  of  action  in  one  graven  piece, 
where  the  girl  smiles  on  two  young  men  alternately.  But  his 
defence  is  ready.  He  would  induce  the  belief  that  on  looking 
at  the  perfection  of  the  workmanship  we  must  necessarily  know 
not  only  what  is  passing,  but  also  what  is  past  and  what  is  to 
come.  We  see  the  two  foxes  in  the  same  spirit,  and  enter  into 
their  minds  and  machinations.  We  swear  to  the  wickedest  of 
the  two  that  we  will  keep  his  secret,  and  that  we  will  help 
him  to  the  uttermost  of  our  power  when  he  declares  that  he 
(<£<XTI)  will  have  the  boy's  breakfast.  Perhaps  we  might  not 
be  so  steadily  his  partisan,  if  the  boy  himself  were  not  medi- 
tating an  ill  turn  to  another  creature.  He  is  busy  in  making  a 
little  cage  for  the  cicala.  Do  we  never  see  the  past  and  the 
future  in  the  pictures  of  Edwin  Landseer,  who  exercises  over 
all  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  fowls  of  the  air  an  undivided  and 
unlimited  dominion,  KCU  voov  e 


3IO  THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS. 

We  shall  abstain,  as  far  as  may  be,  in  this  review  from  verbal 
criticism,  for  which  the  judicious  editor,  after  many  other  great 
scholars,  has  left  but  little  room  ;  but  we  cannot  consent  with 
him  to  omit  the  hundred  and  twentieth  verse,  merely  because 
we  find  it  in  the  fifth  Idyl,  nor  because  he  tells  us  it  is  rejected 
in  the  best  editions.  Verses  have  been  repeated  both  by  Lu- 
cretius and  by  Virgil.  In  the  present  case  the  sentence  with- 
out it  seems  obtruncated,  and  wants  the  peculiar  rhythm  of 
Theocritus,  which  is  complete  and  perfect  with  it.  In  the  last 
two  verses  are  af8e  xi/x<upat  Ov  ^  o-Kiprao-^Te.  Speaking  to  the 
she-goats  he  could  not  well  say  at,  which  could  only  be  said  in 
speaking  of  them.  Probably  the  right  reading  is  wSe,  although 
we  believe  there  is  no  authority  for  it.  The  repetition  of  that 
word  is  graceful,  and  adds  to  the  sense.  "  Come  hither,  Kis- 
saitha  !  milk  this  one  ;  but,  you  others,  do  not  leap  about 
here,  lest,  etc."  The  poet  tells  us  he  will  hereafter  sing  more 
sweetly  :  it  is  much  to  say  ;  but  he  will  keep  his  promise.  He 
speaks  in  the  character  of  Thyrsis.  When  the  goatherd  gives 
the  cup  to  the  shepherd  he  wishes  his  mouth  to  be  filled  with 
honey  and  with  the  honey-^w^  / 

IDYL  II.  is  a  monologue,  and  not  bucolic.  Cimsetha,  an  en- 
chantress, is  in  love  with  Delphis.  The  poem  is  curious,  con- 
taining a  complete  system  of  incantation  as  practised  by  the 
Greeks.  Out  of  two  verses,  by  no  means  remarkable,  Virgil  has 
framed  some  of  the  most  beautiful  in  all  his  works.  Whether 
the  Idyl  was  in  this  particular  copied  from  Apollonius,  or 
whether  he  in  the  Argonautics  had  it  before  him,  is  uncertain. 
Neither  of  them  is  so  admirable  as,  — 

"  Sylvaeque  et  saeva  quierant 


At  non  infelix  animi  Phoenissa  ;  neque  unquam 
Solvitur  in  somnos,  oculime  out  pectore  noctem 
Accipit:  ingeminant  curae,  rursusque  resurgens 
Saevit  amor. 

The  woods  and  stormy  waves  were  now  at  rest, 

But  not  the  hapless  Dido  ;  never  sank 

She  into  sleep,  never  received  she  night 

Into  her  bosom  ;  grief  redoubled  grief, 

And  love  sprang  up  more  fierce  the  more  repressed." 

IDYL  III.     A  goatherd,  whose  name  is  not  mentioned,  de- 
clares his  love,  with  prayers  and  expostulations,  praises  and  re- 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  311 

preaches,  to  Amaryllis.  The  restlessness  of  passion  never  was 
better  expressed.  The  tenth  and  eleventh  lines  are  copied  by 
Virgil,  with  extremely  ill  success  :  — 

"  Quod  potui,  puero  sylvestri  ex  arbore  lecta 
Aurea  mala  decem  misi,  eras  altera  mittam." 

How  poor  is  quod  potui  !  and  what  a  selection  (lecta)  is  that 
of  crabs!  moreover,  these  were  sent  as  a  present  (misi),  and 
not  offered  in  person.  There  is  not  even  the  action,  such  as 
it  is,  but  merely  the  flat  relation  of  it.  Instead  of  a  narration 
about  sending  these  precious  crabs,  and  the  promise  of  as 
many  more  on  the  morrow,  here  in  Theocritus  the  attentive 
lover  says,  "  Behold  !  I  bring  you  ten  apples.  I  gathered 
them  myself  from  the  tree  whence  you  desired  me  to  gather 
them  ;  to-morrow  I  will  bring  you  more.  Look  upon  my  soul- 
tormenting  grief  !  I  wish  I  were  a  bee  that  I  might  come  into 
your  grotto,  penetrating  through  the  ivy  and  fern,  however. 
thick  about  you."  Springing  up  and  away  from  his  dejection 
and  supplication,  he  adds  wildly,  — 

Uvv  eyvwv  rbv"Eptara  :  ftapvi  0ebs  $}  pa  Aeeufcts 


Now  know  I  Love,  a  cruel  God,  who  drew 
A  lioness's  teat,  and  in  the  forest  grew. 

Virgil  has  amplified  the  passage  to  no  purpose  :  — 

"Nunc  scio  quid  sit  amor;  dun's  in  cotibus  ilium    * 
Ismarus  aut  Rhodope  aut  extremi  Garamantes 
NeC£V*ttrif  nostri  puerum  nee  sanguinis  edunt." 

Where  is  the  difference  of  meaning  here  between  genus  and 
sanguis  ?  And  why  all  this  bustle  about  Ismarus  and  Rhodope 
and  the  Garamantes?  A  lioness  in  an  oak-  forest  stands  in 
place  of  them  all,  and  much  better.  Love  being  the  deity, 
not  the  passion,  qui  would  have  been  better  than  quid,  both 
in  propriety  and  in  sound.  There  follows,  — 

"  Alter  ab  undecimo  jam  turn  me  ceperat  annus." 

1  We  have  given,  not  the  Editor's,  but  our  own  punctuation  :  none 
after  0t6s;  for  if  there  were  any  in  that  place,  we  should  have  wished  the 
words  were  /3apvi>  Qi6v. 


312  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

This  is  among  the  most  faulty  expressions  in  Virgil.  The 
words  "jam  turn  me  "  sound  woodenly ;  and  "  me  ceperat  annus  " 
is  scarcely  Latin.  Perhaps  the  poet  wrote  mihi,  abbreviated  to 
mit  —  mihi  c&perat  annus.  There  has  been  a  doubt  regarding 
the  exact  meaning ;  but  this  should  raise  none.  The  meaning 
is,  "  I  was  entering  my  thirteenth  year."  "  Unus  ab  undecimo  " 
would  be  the  twelfth;  of  course  " alter  ab  undecimo"  must 
be  the  thirteenth. 

Virgil  is  little  more  happy  in  his  translations  from  Theo- 
critus than  he  is  in  those  from  Homer.  It  is  probable  that 
they  were  only  school  exercises,  —  too  many,  and  in  his  opin- 
ion, too  good  to  be  thrown  away.  J.  C.  Scaliger,  zealous  for 
the  great  Roman  poet,  gives  him  the  preference  over  Homer 
in  every  instance  where  he  has  copied  him.  But  in  fact  there 
is  nowhere  a  sentence,  and  only  a  single  verse  anywhere,  in 
which  he  rises  to  an  equality  with  his  master.  He  says  of 
•  Fame,  — 

"  Ingrediturque  solo  et  caput  inter  sidera  condit." 

The  noblest  verse  in  the  Latin  language. 

IDYL  IV.  "  Battus  and  Corydon."  1  The  greater  part  is  tedi- 
ous ;  but  at  verse  thirty-eight  begins  a  tender  grief  of  Battus 
on  the  death  of  his  Amaryllis.  Corydon  attempts  to  console 
him  :  "  You  must  be  of  good  courage,  my  dear  Eattus  !  Things 
may  go  better  with  you  another  day."  To  which  natural  and 
brief  reflection  we  believe  all  editions  have  added  two  verses  as 
spoken  by  Corydon.  Nevertheless  we  suspect  that  Theocritus 
gave  the  following  one  to  Battus,  and  that  he  says  in  reply,  or 
rather  in  refutation,  "  There  are  hopes  in  the  living,  but  the 
dead  leave  us  none."  Then  says  Corydon,  "The  skies  are 
sometimes  serene  and  sometimes  rainy."  Battus  is  comforted  ; 
he  adds  but  <9apo-e'co,  for  he  perceives  on  a  sudden  that  the 
calves  are  nibbling  the  olives.  Good  Battus  has  forgotten  at 
once  all  his  wishes  and  regrets  for  Amaryllis,  and  would  rather 

1  The  close  of  verse  thirty-one  is  printed  5  re  ZaKvvOos',  in  other  edi- 
tions &  ZaKwOos.  Perhaps  both  are  wrong.  The  first  syllable  of  ZatcwOos 
is  short,  which  is  against  the  latter  reading;  and  re  would  be  long  be- 
fore Z,  which  is  against  the  former.  Might  not  a  shepherd  who  uses  the 
Doric  dialect  have  said  Actayj/flos  ?  "We  have  heard  of  a  coin  inscribed 
&a.Kvv8i<ov.  In  Virgil  we  read  nemorosa  Zacynthos  ;  but  it  seems  impossi- 
ble that  he  should  have  written  the  word  with  a  Z. 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  313 

have  a  stout  cudgel.  His  animosity  soon  subsides,  however, 
and  he  asks  Corydon  an  odd  question  about  an  old  shepherd, 
which  Corydon  answers  to  his  satisfaction  and  delight. 

IDYL  V.  Comatas,  a  goatherd,  and  Lacon,  a  shepherd,  ac- 
cuse each  other  of  thievery.  They  carry  on  their  recrimina- 
tions with  much  spirit ;  but  the  beauty  of  the  verses  could 
alone  make  the  contest  tolerable.  After  the  fortieth  are  sev- 
eral which  Virgil  has  imitated  with  little  honor  to  his  selection. 
Theocritus,  always  harmonious,  is  invariably  the  most  so  in 
description.  This  is,  however,  too  long  continued  in  many 
places ;  but  here  we  might  wish  it  had  begun  earlier  and  lasted 
longer.  Lacon  says,  — 

"  Sweeter  beneath  this  olive  will  you  sing, 
By  the  grove-side  and  by  the  running  spring, 
Where  grows  the  grass  "in  bedded  tufts,  and  where 
The  shrill  cicada  shakes  the  slumberous  air." 

This  is  somewhat  bolder  than  the  original  will  warrant,  but  not 
quite  so  bold  as  Virgil's  "  rumpunt  arbusta  cicadae."  It  is 
followed  by  what  may  be  well  in  character  with  two  shepherds 
of  Sybaris,  but  what  has  neither  pleasantry  nor  novelty  to  re- 
commend it ;  and  the  answer  would  have  come  with  much 
better  grace  uninterrupted.  Comatas,  after  reminding  Lacon 
of  a  very  untoward  action  in  which  both  were  implicated,  thus 
replies :  — 

"  I  will  not  thither  :  cypresses  are  here, 
Oaks,  and  two  springs  that  gurgle  cool  and  clear ; 
And  bees  are  flying  for  their  hives,  and  through 
The  shady  branches  birds  their  talk  pursue." 

They  both  keep  their  places,  and  look  out  for  an  arbitrator 
to  decide  on  the  merit  of  their  songs.  Morson,  a  woodman,  is 
splitting  a  tree  near  them,  and  they  call  him.  There  is  some- 
thing very  dramatic  in  their  appeal,  and  in  the  objurgation  that 
follows.  The  contest  is  carried  on  in  extemporary  verses,  two 
at  a  time.  After  several,  Comatas  says,  "  All  my  she-goats, 
excepting  two,  are  bearers  of  twins ;  nevertheless,  a  girl  who 
sees  me  among  them  says,  'Unfortunate  creature  !  do  you  milk 
them  all  yourself?  ' '  Lacon,  as  the  words  now  stand,  replies, 
"  Pheu  !  pheu  !  "  an  exclamation  which  among  the  tragedians 
expresses  grief  and  anguish,  but  which  here  signifies  "  Psha, 


314  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

psha."  Now,  it  is  evident  that  Comatas  had  attempted  to 
make  Lacon  jealous,  by  telling  him  how  sorry  the  girl  was  that 
he  should  milk  the  goats  himself  without  anybody  to  help  him. 
Lacon  in  return  is  ready  to  show  that  he  also  had  his  good 
fortune.  There  is  reason  therefore  to  suspect  that  the  name 
ActKwv  should  be  Aa/x,cuv,  because  from  all  that  precedes  we  may 
suppose  that  Lacon  was  never  possessed  of  such  wealth,  and 
that  Comatas  would  have  turned  him  into  ridicule  if  he  had 
boasted  of  it.  "  Psha  !  psha  !  you  are  a  grand  personage  with 
your  twin-bearing  goats,  no  doubt  ;  but  you  milk  them  your- 
self. Now,  Damon  is  richer  than  you  are  ;  he  fills  pretty 
nearly  twenty  hampers  with  cheeses." 

This  seems  indubitable  from  the  following  speech  of  La- 
con.  Not  to  be  teased  any  more  after  he  had  been  taunted 
by  Comatas  that  Clearista,  although  he  was  a  goatherd,  threw 
apples  at  him  and  began  to  sing  the  moment  he  drove  his  herd 
by  her,  Lacon,  out  of  patience  at  last,  says,  "  Cratidas  makes 
me  wild  with  that  beautiful  hair  about  the  neck."  There 
could  have  been  no  room  for  this  if  he  had  spoken  of  himself, 
however  insatiable  ;  for  in  a  later  verse  Cratidas  seems  already 
to  have  made  room  for  another,  — 


'AA.A*  eyk  Eu/t^Scus  fpa.fj.ai  /j.fya. 

Finding  Damon  here  in  Theocritus,  we  may  account  for  his 
appearance  in  Virgil.  No  Greek  letters  are  more  easily  mis- 
taken one  for  the  other  than  the  capital  A  for  A,  and  the  small 
K  for  /A.  In  the  one  hundred  and  fifth  verse,  Comatas  boasts 
of  possessing  a  cup  sculptured  by  Praxiteles.  This  is  no  very 
grave  absurdity  in  such  a  braggart  :  it  suits  the  character. 
Virgil,  who  had  none  to  support  for  his  shepherd,  makes  him 
state  that  his  is  only  "  divini  opus  Alcimedontis." 

It  may  be  remarked,  in  conclusion,  that  no  other  Idyl  con- 
tains so  many  pauses  after  the  fourth  foot,  which  Hermann 
calls  bucolic  ;  nearly  half  of  the  verses  have  this  cadence. 

IDYL  VI.  This  is  dramatic,  and  is  addressed  to  Aratus. 
The  shepherds  Damsetas  and  Daphnis  had  driven  their  flocks 
into  one  place,  and  sitting  by  a  fountain  began  a  song  about 
Polyphemus  and  Galatea.  Daphnis  acts  the  character  of 
Galatea,  Damaetas  of  Polyphemus.  The  various  devices  of 
the  gigantic  shepherd  to  make  her  jealous,  and  his  confidence 


THE    ID\LS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  315 

of  success  in  putting  them  into  practice  are  very  amusing. 
His  slyness  in  giving  a  secret  sign  to  set  the  dog  at  her,  and 
the  dog  knowing  that  he  loved  her  in  his  heart,  and  pushing  his 
nose  against  her  thigh  instead  of  biting  her,  are  such  touches 
of  true  poetry  as  are  seldom  to  be  found  in  pastorals.  In  the 
midst  of  these  our  poet  has  been  thought  to  have  committed 
one  anachronism.  But  where  Galatea  is  said  to  have  mistaken 
the  game,  when  — 


KCL\  ov  <f>i\fovra 
Ka\  r'bv  curb  ypafificis  Kive"i  \iQovt 


"  Seeks  him  who  loves  not,  him  who  loves,  avoids  : 
And  makes  false  moves,"  — 

she  herself  is  not  represented  as  the  speaker,  nor  is  Polyphe- 
mus, but  Daphnis.  It  is  only  at  the  next  speech  that  either 
of  the  characters  comes  forth  in  person  ;  here  Damaetas  is  the 
Polyphemus,  and  acts  his  part  admirably. 

IDYL  VII.  The  last  was  different  in  its  form  and  character 
from  the  five  preceding  ;  the  present  is  more  different  still. 
The  poet,  on  his  road  to  Alexandria  with  Eucritus  and  Amyn- 
tas,  meets  Phrasidamus  and  Antigenes,  and  is  invited  to  ac- 
company them  to  the  festival  of  Ceres,  called  Thalysia.  He 
falls  in  with  Lycidas  of  Cidon,  and  they  relate  their  love- 
stories.  This  Idyl  closes  with  a  description  of  summer  just 
declining  into  autumn.  The  invocation  to  the  Nymphs  is  in 
the  spirit  of  Pindar. 

IDYL  VIII.1  The  subject  is  a  contest  in  singing  between 
Menalcas  and  Daphnis  for  a  pipe.  Here  are  some  verses  of 
exquisite  simplicity,  which  Virgil  has  most  clumsily  translated  : 

"  Ego  hunc  vitulum,  ne  forte  recuses,  etc. 
De  grege  non  ausim  quidquam  deponere  tecum, 
Est  mihi  namque  domi  pater,  est  injtista  noverca, 
Bisque  die  numerant  ambo/^wj  .  .  .  alte  r  et  Juzdos" 


1  The  first  two  lines  are  the  least  pleasant  to  the  ear  of  any  in  this 
lodious     oet. 


melodious  poet. 


.  rco  xaP>l€  \  v  ri  .  .  .  (rvvfivrfTo  (3ovito\fo  |  v  TI 

MoAa  vf/j.(i)V  &s  (pa  \  v  ri,  etc. 

'fis  <f>avri  is  found  in  all  editions  ;  but  Pierson  has  suggested 
Dlophantus  was  a  friend  of  Theocritus,  addressed  in  Idyl  XXI. 


316  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

It  is  evident  that  Virgil  means  by  "  pecus  "  the  sheep  only ; 
"  pecora  "  at  this  day  means  a  ewe  in  Italian.  Virgil's  Me- 
nalcas  had  no  objection  to  the  robbery,  but  was  afraid  of  the 
chastisement. 

The  Menalcas  of  Theocritus  says,  "  I  will  never  lay  what  be- 
longs to  my  father,  but  I  have  a  pipe  which  I  made  myself;  " 
and  according  to  his  account  of  it,  it  was  no  ordinary  piece  of 
workmanship.  Damaetas,  it  appears,  had  made  exactly  such 
another,  quite  as  good  ;  and  the  cane  of  which  it  was  made  cut 
his  finger  in  making  it.  They  carry  on  the  contest  in  such 
sweet  hexameters  and  pentameters  as  never  were  heard  before 
or  since  ;  but  they  finish  with  hexameters  alone.  The  prize  is 
awarded  to  Daphnis  by  the  goatherd  who  is  arbitrator.  He 
must  have  been  a  goatherd  of  uncommonly  fine  discernment. 
The  match  seems  equal;  perhaps  the  two  following  verses 
turned  the  balance  :  — 

'AAA.'  virb  ra  TreVpo  ro5'  atro/uot,  ay/cos  fxwv  TV> 
2iVo.ua  ,ua/Y   4<ropa>v,  rav  2i/ceAaf  es  aAa. 

Of  these,  as  of  those  above,  we  can  only  give  the  meaning  ; 
he  who  can  give  a  representation  of  them,  can  give  a  represen- 
tation of  the  sea-breezes  :  — 

"  It  never  was  my  wish  to  have  possessed 

The  land  of  Pelops  and  his  golden  store  ; 
But  only,  as  I  hold  you  to  my  breast, 

Glance  at  our  sheep  and  our  Sicilian  shore." 

IDYL  IX.  Again  Menalcas  and  Daphnis;  but  they  must 
both  have  taken  cold. 

IDYL  X.  Milo  and  Battus  are  reapers.  Milo  asks  Battus 
what  ails  him,  that  he  can  neither  draw  a  straight  furrow  nor 
reap  like  his  neighbors.  For  simplicity  none  of  the  pastorals 
is  more  delightful,  and  it  abounds  in  rustic  irony. 

IDYL  XI.  is  addressed  to  Nikias  of  Miletus,  and  appears  to 
have  been  written  in  Sicily,  by  the  words  6  KvKAwi//  6  Trap'  rjplv. 
It  describes  the  love  of  Polyphemus  for  Galatea,  his  appeal  to 
her,  his  promises  (to  the  extent  of  eleven  kids  and  four  bear- 
cubs),  and  his  boast  that  if  he  cannot  have  her,  he  can  find 
another  perhaps  more  beautiful ;  for  that  many  are  ready 
enough  to  play  with  him,  challenging  him  to  that  effect,  and 


THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS.  317 

giggling  (KixXt£ovTi)  when  he  listens  to  them.  Virgil's  imi- 
tation of  this  Idyl  is  extremely  and  more  than  usually  feeble. 
The  last  verse  however  of  Theocritus  is  somewhat  flat.1 

IDYL  XII.  We  now  arrive  at  the  first  of  those  Idyls  of 
which  the  genuineness  has  been  so  pertinaciously  disputed.2 
And  why?  Because  forsooth  it  pleased  the  author  to  compose 
it  in  the  Ionic  dialect.  Did  Burns,  who  wrote  mostly  in  the 
Scottish,  write  nothing  in  the  English  ?  With  how  much  bet- 
ter reason  has  the  competitor  of  Apollonius  and  Callimachus 
deserted  the  Doric  occasionally  !  Meleager  and  other  writers 
of  inscriptions  mix  frequently  Ionic  forms  with  Doric.  In  fact, 
the  most  accurate  explorers  must  come  at  last  to  the  conclusion, 
that  even  in  the  pastoral  portion  of  these  Idyls  scarcely  a  single 
one  is  composed  throughout  of  unmingled  Doric.  The  ear 
that  is  accustomed  to  the  exuberant  flow  of  Theocritus,  will 
never  reject  as  spurious  this  melodious  and  graceful  poem. 
Here,  and  particularly  toward  the  conclusion,  as  very  often 
elsewhere,  he  writes  in  the  style  and  spirit  of  Pindar,  while  he 
celebrates  the  loves  extolled  by  Plato. 

IDYL  XIII.  is  addressed  to  Nikias,  as  the  eleventh  was.  It 
is  not  a  dialogue  ;  it  is  a  narrative  of  the  loss  of  Hylas.  The 
same  story  is  related  by  Propertius  in  the  most  beautiful  of  his 
Elegies. 

IDYL  XIV.  is  entitled  "  Cynisca's  Love,"  and  is  a  dialogue 
between  her  husband  ^Eschines  and  his  friend  Thyonichus. 
Cynisca  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Lucos.  At  an  entertainment 
given  by  ^Eschines,  a  very  mischievous  guest,  one  Apis,  sings 

1  paov  5e  Stay'  77  XPV(*^V  eSa/eej'. 
"  He  lived  more  pleasantly  than  if  he  had  given  gold  for  it." 

This  is  barely  sense  ;  nor  can  it  be  improved  without  a  bold  substi- 
tution, — 


Such  terminations  are  occasionally  to  be  found  in  our  poet;  for 
example,  — 

Idyll.  a\\a  Hdxev  HOI.  Idyl  II.  owov  eyd>  Gi]v.  Idyl  III.  el  $i\€€ts 
jue,  and  three  lines  farther  on,  ouVe/c'  e%w  /xeV,  etc. 

2  The  title  of  this  is  "  Aites,"  which  among  the  Thessalians  was  what, 
according  to  the  poet  in  v.  13,  e!(rirvei\os  was  among  the  Spartans,  —the 
one  irapa.  rb  rbv  3p6/j.evov  elcraieiv,  the  other  from  elairvflv  rbv  epcoro  rr-i 


3l8  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

about  a  wolf  ( AL'KOS)  ,  who  was  quite  charming.  /Eschines  had 
had  some  reason  for  jealousy  before.  Hearing  Cynisca  sigh  at 
the  name  of  Lucos,  he  can  endure  it  no  longer,  and  gives  her 
a  slap  in  the  face,  then  another,  and  so  forth,  until  she  runs 
out  of  the  house  and  takes  refuge  with  her  Lucos  day  and 
night.  All  this  the  husband  relates  to  Thyonichus ;  and  the 
verses  from  the  thirty-fourth  to  the  thirty- eighth,  SaXm  <£i'Aov, 
are  very  laughable.  Thyonichus  advises  that  so  able  a  boxer 
should  enter  the  service  of  Ptolemy. 

IDYL  XV.  "The  Syracusan  Gossips."  Never  was  there  so 
exact,  or  so  delightful  a  description  of  such  characters.  There 
is  a  little  diversity,  quite  enough,  between  Praxinoe  and  Gorgo. 
Praxinoe  is  fond  of  dress ;  conceited,  ignorant,  rash,  abusive  in 
her  remarks  on  her  husband,  ambitious  to  display  her  knowl- 
edge as  well  as  her  finery,  and  talking  absurdly  on  what  she 
sees  about  her  at  the  festival  of  Adonis.  Gorgo  is  desirous  of 
insinuating  her  habits  of  industry.  There  are  five  speakers,  — 
Gorgo,  Praxinoe,  Eunoe,  an  old  woman,  and  a  traveller,  besides 
a  singing  girl  who  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  party  or  the 
dialogue. 

Gorgo.  Don't  talk  in  this  way  against  your  husband  while 
your  baby  is  by.  See  how  he  is  looking  at  you. 

Praxinoe.  Sprightly  my  pretty  Zopyrion  !  I  am  not  talking 
of  papa. 

Gorgo.  By  Proserpine,  he  understands  you  !  Papa  is  a  jewel 
of  a  papa. 

After  a  good  deal  of  tattle  they  are  setting  out  for  the  fair, 
and  the  child  shows  a  strong  desire  to  be  of  the  party. 

Gorgo.  I  can't  take  you,  darling  !  There  's  a  hobgoblin  on 
the  other  side  of  the  door,  and  there  's  a  biting  horse.  Ay,  ay, 
cry  to  your  heart's  content !  Do  you  think  I  would  have  you 
lamed  for  life  ?  Come,  come,  let  us  be  off ! 

Laughter  is  irrepressible  at  their  mishaps  and  exclamations 
in  the  crowd.  This  poem,  consisting  of  one  hundred  and 
forty-four  verses,  is  the  longest  in  Theocritus,  excepting  the 
heroics  on  Hercules.  The  comic  is  varied  and  relieved  by  the 
song  of  a  girl  on  Adonis.  She  notices  everything  she  sees, 
and  describes  it  as  it  appears  to  her.  After  an  invocation 
to  Venus  she  has  a  compliment  for  Berenice,  not  without  an 
eye  to  the  candied  flowers  and  white  pastry,  and  the  pretty 


THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS.  319 

little  baskets  containing  mossy  gardens  and  waxwork  Adonises, 
and  tiny  Loves  flying  over,  — 


fir}  SevSpcav 
,  TTTfpuywv  TTfipufjLfvoi  u£ov  air'  ufa. 

"Like  the  young  nightingales,  some  nestling  close, 
Some  plying  the  fresh  wing  from  bough  to  bough." 

IDYL  XVI.  "The  Graces."  Here  Hiero  is  reminded  how 
becoming  is  liberality  in  the  rich  and  powerful  ;  and  here  is 
sometimes  a  plaintive  under-song  in  the  praise.  The  attributes 
of  the  Graces  were  manifold  ;  the  poet  has  them  in  view  prin- 
cipally as  the  distributors  of  just  rewards.  We  have  noticed 
the  resemblance  he  often  bears  to  Pindar  ;  nowhere  is  »  it  so 
striking  as  in  this  and  the  next.  The  best  of  Pindar's  odes  is 
not  more  energetic  throughout  ;  none  of  them  surpass  these 
two  in  the  chief  qualities  of  that  admirable  poet,  —  rejection 
of  what  is  light  and  minute,  disdain  of  what  is  trivial,  and  se- 
lection of  those  blocks  from  the  quarry  which  will  bear  strong 
strokes  of  the  hammer  and  retain  all  the  marks  of  the  chisel. 
Of  what  we  understand  by  sublimity  he  has  little  ;  but  he 
moves  in  the  calm  majesty  of  an  elevated  mind.  Of  all  poets 
he  least  resembles  those  among  us  whom  it  is  the  fashion  most 
to  admire  at  the  present  day.  The  verses  of  this  address  to 
Hiero  by  Theocritus,  from  the  thirty-fourth  to  the  forty-seventh, 
are  as  sonorous  and  elevated  as  the  best  of  Homer's  ;  and  so 
are  those  beginning  at  the  ninety-eighth  verse  to  the  end. 

IDYL  XVII.  This  has  nothing  of  the  Idyl  in  it,  but  is  a 
noble  eulogy  on  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  son  of  Ptolemy  Lagus 
and  Berenice,  Warton  is  among  the  many  who  would  deduct 
it  from  the  works  of  our  poet.  It  is  grander  even  than  the 
last  on  Hiero,  in  which  he  appears  resolved  to  surpass  all  that 
Pindar  has  written  on  the  earlier  king  of  that  name.  It  is  only 
in  versification  that  it  differs  from  him  ;  in  comprehensiveness, 
power,  and  majesty,  and  in  the  manner  of  treating  the  subject, 
the  same  spirit  seems  to  have  guided  the  same  hand. 

IDYL  XVIII.  "  The  Epithalamium  of  Helen."  There  were 
two  species  of  epithalamium,  —  the  KOSTIKOV,  such  as  this, 
and  such  likewise  as  that  of  Catullus,  sung  as  the  bride  was 
conducted  to  her  chamber;  and  the  eyeprt/coV,  sung  as  she 
arose  in  the  morning.  The  poet,  in  the  first  verses,  introduces 


32O  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

twelve  Spartan  girls  crowned  with  hyacinths,  who  sing  and 
dance  about  Menelaus.  "  And  so  you  are  somewhat  heavy  in 
the  knees,  sweet  spouse  !  rather  fond  of  sleep,  are  you  ?  You 
ought  to  have  gone  to  sleep  at  the  proper  time,  and  have  let  a 
young  maiden  play  with  other  young  maidens  at  her  mother's 
until  long  after  daybreak."  Then  follow  the  praises  of  Helen, 
wishes  for  her  prosperity,  and  promises  to  return  at  the  crowing 
of  the  cock. 

IDYL  XIX.  "  Kariocleptes,  or  the  Hive-stealer,"  contains 
but  eight  verses.  It  is  the  story  of  Cupid  stung  by  a  bee,  — 
the  first  and  last  bee  that  ever  stung  all  the  fingers  (Ad/crvXa 
TTOLVT  v7re'vi;£ev)  of  both  hands  ;  for  it  is  not  x€f  °>  DUt:  X€LP^V- 
Having  said  in  the  first  verse  that  the  bee  stung  him  as  he  was 
plundering  the  hive,  we  may  easily  suspect  in  what  part  the 
wound  was  inflicted  ;  and  among  the  extremely  few  things  we 
could  wish  altered  or  omitted  in  Theocritus  are  the  words  — 


7raj/0'  virevv^tv.     'O  5'  &\.yee. 

All  the  needful  and  all  the  ornamental  would  be  comprised 
in  — 

e/c  fflfjifiXcov  (rvXevfjievov,  t>s  %6V  ^vcrare,  etc. 


IDYL  XX.  "  The  Oxherd."  He  complains  of  Eunica,  who 
holds  his  love  in  derision  and  finds  fault  with  hi3  features, 
speech,  and  manners.  From  plain  downright  contemptuous- 
ness  she  bursts  forth  into  irony,  — 


us  aypia 
s  /camA.a  p^uara  <ppda8fis,  etc. 

"  How  rustic  is  your  play  ! 
How  coarse  your  language  !  "  etc. 

He  entertains  a  very  different  opinion  of  himself,  boasts  that 
every  girl  upon  the  hills  is  in  love  with  him,  and  is  sure  that 
only  a  "  town  lady  "  (which  he  thinks  is  the  same  thing  as  a 
"lady  of  the  town  ")  could  have  so  little  taste.  There  is  sim- 
plicity in  this  Idyl,  but  it  is  the  worst  of  the  author's. 

IDYL  XXI.  "  The  Fisherman."  Two  fishermen  were  lying 
stretched  on  seaweed  in  a  wattled  hut,  and  resting  their  heads 
against  the  wall  composed  of  twigs  and  leaves.  Around  them 


THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS.  321 

were  spread  all  the  implements  of  their  trade,  which  are  speci- 
fied in  very  beautiful  verse.  They  arose  before  dawn,  and  one 
said  to  the  other,  "  They  speak  unwisely  who  tell  us  that  the 
nights  are  shorter  in  summer  when  the  days  are  longer,  for 
within  the  space  of  this  very  night  I  have  dreamed  innumer- 
able dreams.  Have  you  ever  learned  to  interpret  them?'* 
He  then  relates  how  he  dreamed  of  having  caught  a  golden 
fish,  how  afraid  he  was  that  it  might  be  the  favorite  fish  of 
Neptune  or  Amphitrite.  His  fears  subsided,  and  he  swore  to 
himself  that  he  would  give  up  the  sea  forever  and  be  a  king. 
"  I  am  now  afraid  of  having  sworn  any  such  oath,"  said  he. 
"  Never  fear,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  the  only  danger  is  of  dying 
with  hunger  in  the  midst  of  such  golden  dreams." 

IDYL  XXII.  This  is  the  first  heroic  poem  in  Theocritus  ;  it 
is  in  two  parts.  First  is  described  the  fight  of  Polideukes 
and  Amycus  ;  secondly,  of  Castor  and  Lynceus.  Of  Amycus 
the  poet  says  that  "  his  monstrous  chest  was  spherical"  — 


Omitting  this,  we  may  perhaps  give  some  idea  of  the  scene. 

"  In  solitude  both  wandered,  far  away 
From  those  they  sailed  with.     On  the  hills  above, 
Beneath  a  rocky  steep,  a  fount  they  saw 
Full  of  clear  water  ;  and  below  were  more 
That  bubbled  from  the  bottom,  silvery, 
Crystalline.     In  the  banks  around  grew  pines, 
Poplars,  and  cypresses  and  planes,  and  flowers 
Sweet-smelling;  pleasant  work  for  hairy  bees 
Born  in  the  meadows  at  the  close  of  spring. 
There  in  the  sunshine  sat  a  savage  man, 
Horrid  to  see  ;  broken  were  both  his  ears 
With  cestuses,  his  shoulders  were  like  rocks 
Polished  by  some  vast  river's  ceaseless  whirl." 

Apollonius  and  Valerius  Flaccus  have  described  the  fight  of 
Amycus  and  Polydeukes.  Both  poets  are  clever,  Valerius  more 
than  usually.  Theocritus  is  masterly. 

IDYL  XXIII.  "  Dyseros,  or  the  Unhappy  Lover."  The  sub- 
ject of  this  is  the  same  as  the  Corydon  of  Virgil  ;  but  here  the 
statue  of  Cupid  falls  on  and  crushes  the  inflexible. 

IDYL  XXIV.  "  Heracliskos,  or  the  Infant  Hercules."  There 
are  critics  of  so  weak  a  sight  in  poetry  as  to  ascribe  this  mag- 
nificent and  wonderful  work  to  Bion  or  Moschus.  Hercules  is 


322  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

cradled  in  Amphitryon's  shield.  The  description  of  the  ser- 
pents, of  the  supernatural  light  in  the  chamber,  and  the  proph- 
ecy of  Tiresias,  are  equal  to  Pindar  and  Homer. 

IDYL  XXV.  "  Hercules  the  Lion- Killer."  This  will  bear  no 
comparison  with  the  preceding.  The  story  is  told  by  Hercules 
himself,  and  the  poet  has  taken  good  care  that  it  should  not  be 
beyond  his  capacity. 

IDYL  XXVI.  "  The  Death  of  Pentheus."  Little  can  be  said 
for  this  also ;  only  that  the  style  is  the  pure  antique. 

IDYL  XXVII.  "  Daphnis  and  the  Shepherdess"  has  been 
translated  by  Dryden.  He  has  given  the  Shepherdess  a 
muslin  gown  bespangled.  This  easy  and  vigorous  poet  too 
often  turns  the  country  into  the  town,  smells  of  the  ginshop, 
and  staggers  toward  the  brothel.  He  was  quite  at  home  with 
Juvenal,  imitating  his  scholastic  strut,  deep  frown,  and  loud 
declamation.  No  other  has  done  such  justice  to  Lucretius,  to 
Virgil,  to  Horace,  and  to  Ovid ;  none  is  so  dissimilar  to  The- 
ocritus. Wherever  he  finds  a  stain,  he  enlarges  its  circumfer- 
ence, and  renders  it  vivid  and  indelible.  In  this  lively  poem 
we  wish  the  sixty-fifth  and  sixty-sixth  verses  were  omitted. 

IDYL  XXVIII.  Neither  this  nor  any  one  of  the  following 
can  be  called  an  Idyl.  The  metre  is  the  pentameter  chori- 
ambic,  like  Catullus's  "  Alphene  immemor,"  etc. 

IDYL  XXIX.  Expostulation  against  Inconstancy.  The  metre 
is  the  dactylic  pentameter,  in  which  every  foot  is  a  dactyl, 
excepting  the  first,  which  is  properly  a  trochee ;  this  however 
may  be  converted  to  a  spondee  or  an  iambic,  enjoying  the 
same  license  as  the  Phaleucian.  In  the  twentieth  verse  there 
is  a  false  quantity,  where  /ce  is  short  before  £. 

IDYL  XXX.  The  "Death  of  Adonis."  Venus  orders  the 
Loves  to  catch  the  guilty  boar  and  bring  him  before  her. 
They  do  so ;  he  makes  his  defence  against  the  accusation, 
which  is  that  he  only  wished  to  kiss  the  thigh  of  Adonis ;  and 
he  offers  his  tusk  in  atonement,  and  if  the  tusk  is  insufficient, 
his  cheek.  Venus  pitied  him,  and  he  was  set  at  liberty.  Out 
of  gratitude  and  remorse,  he  went  to  a  fire  and  burned  his 
teeth  down  to  the  sockets.  Let  those  who  would  pillage 
Theocritus  of  his  valuables  show  the  same  contrition ;  we  then 
promise  them  this  poem,  to  do  what  they  will  with. 

The  '•  Inscriptions,"  which  follow,  are  all  of  extreme   sim- 


THE    IDYLS    OF   THEOCRITUS.  323 

plicity  and  propriety.  These  are  followed  by  the  poems  of 
Bion  and  Moschus.  Bion  was  a  native  of  Smyrna,  Moschus 
(his  scholar)  of  Syracuse.  They  are  called  authors  of  Idyls, 
but  there  is  nothing  of  idyl  or  pastoral  in  their  works.  The 
worst  of  them,  as  is  often  the  case,  is  the  most  admired.  Bion 
tells  us  that  the  boar  bit  the  thigh  of  Adonis  with  his  tusk,  — 
the  white  thigh  with  the  white  tusk ;  and  that  Adonis  grieved 
Venus  by  breathing  softly  while  the  blood  was  running.  Such 
faults  as  these  are  rarely  to  be  detected  in  Greek  poetry,  but 
frequently  on  the  revival  of  Pastoral  in  Italy. 

Chaucer  was  born  before  that  epidemic  broke  out  which 
soon  spread  over  Europe,  and  infected  the  English  poetry  as 
badly  as  any.  The  thoughts  of  our  poets  in  the  Elizabethan 
age  often  look  the  stronger  because  they  are  complicated  and 
twisted.  We  have  the  boldness  to  confess  that  we  are  no 
admirers  of  the  Elizabethan  style.  Shakspeare  stood  alone  in 
a  fresh  and  vigorous  and  vast  creation ;  yet  even  his  first-born 
were  foul  offenders,  bearing  on  their  brows  the  curse  of  a  fallen 
state.  Elsewhere,  in  every  quarter,  we  are  at  once  slumberous 
and  restless  under  the  heaviness  of  musk  and  benzoin,  and  sigh 
for  the  unattainable  insipidity  of  fresh  air.  We  are  regaled 
with  dishes  in  which  no  condiment  is  forgotten,  nor  indeed 
anything  but  simply  the  meat ;  and  we  are  ushered  into 
chambers  where  the  tapestry  is  all  composed  of  dwarfs  and 
giants,  and  the  floor  all  covered  with  blood.  Thomson,  in  the 
"  Seasons,"  has  given  us  many  beautiful  descriptions  of  inani- 
mate nature ;  but  the  moment  any  one  speaks  in  them  the 
charm  is  broken.  The  figures  he  introduces  are  fantastical. 
The  "  Hassan  "  of  Collins  is  excellent ;  he  however  is  surpassed 
by  Burns  and  Scott ;  and  Wordsworth,  in  his  "  Michael,"  is 
nowise  inferior  to  them.  Among  the  moderns  no  poet,  it 
appears  to  us,  has  written  an  Idyl  so  perfect,  so  pure  and 
simple  in  expression,  yet  so  rich  in  thought  and  imagery,  as  the 
"  Godiva  "  of  Alfred  Tennyson.  Wordsworth,  like  Thomson, 
is  deficient  in  the  delineation  of  character,  even  of  the  rustic, 
in  which  Scott  and  Burns  are  almost  equal.  But  some  beau- 
tiful Idyls  might  be  extracted  from  the  "Excursion,"  which 
would  easily  split  into  lamince,  and  the  residue  might  with  little 
loss  be  blown  away.  Few  are  suspicious  that  they  may  be  led 
astray  and  get  benighted  by  following  simplicity  too  far.  If 


324  THE    IDYLS    OF    THEOCRITUS. 

there  are  pleasant  fruits  growing  on  the  ground,  must  we  there- 
fore cast  aside  as  unwholesome  those  which  have  required  the 
pruning-knife  to  correct  and  the  ladder  to  reach  them  ?  Beau- 
tiful thoughts  are  seldom  disdainful  of  sonorous  epithets ;  we 
find  them  continually  in  the  Pastorals  of  Theocritus  ;  sometimes 
we  see,  coming  rather  obtrusively,  the  wanton  and  indelicate, 
but  never  (what  poetry  most  abhors)  the  mean  and  abject. 
Widely  different  from  our  homestead  poets,  the  Syracusan  is 
remarkable  for  a  facility  that  never  draggles,  for  a  spirit  that 
never  flags,  and  for  a  variety  that  never  is  exhausted.  His 
reflections  are  frequent,  but  seasonable,  —  soon  over,  like  the 
shadows  of  spring  clouds  on  flowery  meadows,  and  not  hanging 
heavily  upon  the  scene,  nor  depressing  the  vivacity  of  the 
blithe  antagonists. 


THE   POEMS  OF   CATULLUS. 

DOERING'S  first  edition  of  Catullus  came  out  nearly  half  a 
century  before  his  last  edition.  When  he  returned  to  his 
undertaking,  he  found  many  things,  he  tells  us,  to  be  struck 
out,  many  to  be  altered  and  set  right.  We  believe  we  shall 
be  able  to  show  that  several  are  still  remaining  in  these 
predicaments. 

They  who  in  our  days  have  traced  the  progress  of  poetry 
have  pursued  it  generally  not  as  poets  or  philosophers,  but  as 
hasty  observers  or  cold  chronologists.  If  we  take  our  stand 
on  the  Roman  world  just  before  the  subversion  of  its  free  in- 
stitutions, we  shall  be  in  a  position  to  look  backward  on 
Greece  and  forward  on  Italy  and  England ;  and  we  shall  be 
little  disposed  to  pick  up  and  run  away  with  the  stale  com- 
ments left  by  those  who  went  before  us,  but  rather  to  loiter  a 
little  on  the  way,  and  to  indulge,  perhaps  too  complacently, 
in  the  freshness  of  our  own  peculiar  opinions  and  favorite 
speculations. 

The  last  poet  who  flourished  at  Rome  before  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  republic  by  the  arms  of  Julius  Caesar  was  Catullus  ; 
and  the  last  record  we  possess  of  him  is  about  the  defama- 
tory verses  which  he  composed  on  that  imperishable  name. 
Cicero,  to  whom  he  has  expressed  his  gratitude  for  defending 
him  in  a  law-suit,  commends  on  this  occasion  the  equanimity  of 
Caesar,  who  listened  to  the  reading  of  them  in  his  bath  before 
dinner.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  poet  long  sur- 
vived his  father's  guest,  the  Dictator ;  but  his  decease  was  un- 
noticed in  those  times  of  agitation  and  dismay,  nor  is  the  date 
of  it  to  be  ascertained.  It  has  usually  been  placed  at  the  age 
of  forty-six,  four  years  after  Caesar's.  Nothing  is  more  absurd 
than  the  supposition  of  Martial,  which  however  is  but  a  poeti- 
cal one, — 

"  Si  forsan  tener  ausus  est  Catullus 
Magno  mittere  Passerem  Maroni." 


326  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

(It  is  scarcely  worth  a  remark  by  the  way,  that  si  fors&n  is  not 
Latin ;  si  forte  would  be  :  si  and  an  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  each  other.)  But  allowing  that  Virgil  had  written  his 
"  Ceiris  "  and  "  Culex,"  two  poems  inferior  to  several  in  the  Eton 
school-exercises,  he  could  not  have  published  his  first  Eclogues 
in  the  lifetime  of  Catullus ;  and  if  he  had,  the  whole  of  them 
are  not  worth  a  single  Phaleucian  or  scazon  of  the  vigorous 
and  impassioned  Veronese. 

But  Virgil  is  not  to  be  depreciated  by  us,  as  he  too  often 
has  been  of  late,  both  in  this  country  and  abroad ;  nor  is  he  at 
all  so  when  we  deliver  our  opinion  that  his  Pastorals  are  almost 
as  inferior  to  those  of  Theocritus  as  Pope's  are  to  his.  Even 
in  these,  there  not  only  are  melodious  verses,  but  harmonious 
sentences,  appropriate  images,  and  tender  thoughts.  Once 
or  twice  we  find  beauties  beyond  any  in  Theocritus;  for 
example,  — 

"  Ite,  capellae ! 

Non  ego  vos  posthac  viridi  projectus  in  antro 
Dumosa  pendere  procul  de  rupe  videbo." 

Yet  in  other  places  he  is  quite  as  harsh  as  if  he  had  been  ever 
so  negligent.  One  instance  is,  — 

"  Nunc  victi,  tristes,  quoniam  Fors  omnia  versat, 
Hos  illi  (quod  nee  bene  vertat)  mittimus  haedos. 

"  But  now  we  must  stoop 

To  the  worst  in  the  troop, 
And  must  do  whatsoever  that  vagabond  wills  : 

I  wish  the  old  goat 

Had  a  horn  in  his  throat, 
And  the  kids  and  ourselves  were  again  on  the  hills." 

Supposing  the  first  of  the  Eclogues  to  have  appeared  seven 
years  after  the  death  of  Catullus,  and  this  poet  to  have  com- 
posed his  earliest  works  in  the  lifetime  of  Lucretius,  we  cannot 
but  ponder  on  the  change  of  the  Latin  language  in  so  short  a 
space  of  time.  Lucretius  was  by  birth  a  Roman,  and  wrote  in 
Rome ;  yet  who  would  not  say  unhesitatingly  that  there  is 
more  of  what  Cicero  calls  urbane  in  the  two  provincials,  Virgil 
and  Catullus,  than  in  the  authoritative  and  stately  man  who 
leads  Memmius  from  the  camp  into  the  gardens  of  Epicurus. 
He  complains  of  poverty  in  the  Latin  tongue ;  but  his  com- 
plaint is  only  on  its  insufficiency  in  philosophical  terms,  which 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  327 

Cicero  also  felt  twenty  years  later,  and  called  in  Greek  aux- 
iliaries. But  in  reality  the  language  never  exhibited  such  a 
profusion  of  richness  as  in  the  comedies  of  Plautus,  whose  style 
is  the  just  admiration  of  the  Roman  orator. 

Cicero  bears  about  him  many  little  keepsakes  received  from 
this  quarter,  particularly  the  diminutives.  His  fondness  for 
them  borders  on  extravagance.  Could  you  believe  that  the 
language  contains  in  its  whole  compass  a  hundred  of  these  ? 
Could  you  believe  that  an  orator  and  philosopher  was  likely  to 
employ  a  quarter  of  the  number?  Yet  in  the  various  works  of 
Cicero  we  have  counted  and  written  down  above  a  hundred 
and  sixty.  Catullus  himself  has  employed  them  much  more 
sparingly  than  Cicero,  or  than  Plautus,  and  always  with  propriety 
and  effect.  The  playful  Ovid  never  indulges  in  them,  nor  does 
Propertius,  nor  does  Tibullus.  Nobody  is  willing  to  suspect 
that  Virgil  has  ever  done  it ;  but  he  has  done  it  once  in  — 

"  Oscula  libavit  natae." 

Perhaps  they  had  been  turned  into  ridicule  for  the  misapplica- 
tion of  them  by  some  forgotten  poet  in  the  commencement  of 
the  Augustan  age.  Quintilian  might  have  given  us  information 
on  this  :  it  lay  in  his  road.  But  whether  they  died  by  a  natu- 
ral death  or  a  violent  one,  they  did  not  appear  again  as  a  plague 
until  after  the  deluge  of  the  Dark  Ages ;  and  then  they  in- 
creased and  multiplied  in  the  slime  of  those  tepid  shallows 
from  which  Italy  in  few  places  has  even  yet  emerged.  In  the 
lines  of  Hadrian,  — 

"  Animula,  vagula,  blandula,"  — 

they  have  been  greatly  admired,  and  very  undeservedly.  Pope 
has  made  sad  work  of  these.  Whatever  they  are,  they  did  not 
merit  such  an  experimentum  crucis  at  his  hands. 

In  Catullus  no  reader  of  a  poetical  mind  would  desire  one 
diminutive  less.  In  Politian  and  such  people  they  buzz  about 
our  ears  insufferably ;  and  we  would  waft  every  one  of  them 
away,  with  little  heed  or  concern,  if  we  brush  off  together  with 
them  all  the  squashy  insipidities  they  alight  on. 

The  imitators  of  Catullus  have  indeed  been  peculiarly  un- 
successful. Numerous  as  they  are,  scarcely  five  pieces  worth 
remembrance  can  be  found  among  them.  There  are  persons 


328  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

who  have  a  knowledge  of  Latinity,  there  are  others  who  have  a 
knowledge  of  poetry ;  but  it  is  not  always  that  the  same  judge 
decides  with  equal  wisdom  in  both  courts.  Some  hendecasyl- 
labics  of  the  late  Serjeant  Lens,  an  excellent  man,  a  first-rate 
scholar,  and  a  graceful  poet,  have  been  rather  unduly  praised ; 
to  us  they  appear  monotonous  and  redundant.  We  will  tran- 
scribe only  the  first  two  for  particular  notice  and  illustration  : 

"  Grates  insidiis  tuis  dolisque 
Vinclis  jam  refero  lubens  solutis." 

Never  were  words  more  perplexed  and  involved.  He  who 
brings  them  forward  as  classical  is  unaware  that  they  are  closely 
copied  from  a  beautiful  little  poem  of  Metastasio,  which  J.  J. 
Rousseau  has  tianslated  admirably  :  — 

"  Grazie  agli  inganni  tuoi 
Alfin  respiro,  O  Nice  !  " 

How  much  better  is  the  single  word  inganni  than  the  useless 
and  improper  insidiis  which  renders  dolis  quite  unnecessary  ! 
A  better  line  would  be  — 

"  Vincla  projicio  libens  soluta." 
Or  — 

"Tandem  projicio  soluta  vincla." 

In  fact,  it  would  be  a  very  difficult  matter  to  suggest  a  worse. 
The  most-part  of  the  verses  may  be  transposed  in  any  way 
whatsoever ;  each  seems  to  be  independent  of  the  rest.  They 
are  good,  upright,  sound  verses  enough,  but  never  a  sentence 
of  them  conciliates  the  ear.  The  same  objection  is  justly  made 
to  nearly  all  the  modern  hendecasyllabics.  Serjeant  Lens  has 
also  given  us  too  many  lines  for  one  Phaleucian  piece.  The 
metre  will  admit  but  few  advantageously ;  it  is  the  very  best 
for  short  poems.  This  might  be  broken  into  three  or  four, 
and  almost  in  any  place  indifferently.  Like  the  seta  equina, 
by  pushing  out  a  head  and  a  tail,  each  would  go  on  as  well 
as  ever. 

In  how  few  authors  of  hendecasyllabics  is  there  one  fine 
cadence  !  Such,  for  instance,  as  those  in  Catullus  :  — 

"Soles  occidere  et  redire  possunt, 
Nobis  quum  semel  occidit  brevis  lux 
Nox  est  perpetua  una  dormiehda." 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  329 

And  those,  — 

"  Quamvis  Candida  millies  puella 
Euntem  revocet,  manusque  collo 
Ambas  injiciens  roget  morari." 

A.nd  twenty  more.  In  the  former  of  these  quotations,  Catullus 
had  before  him  the  best  passage  in  Moschus,  which  may  be 
thus  translated  :  — 

"  Ah  !  when  the  mallow  in  the  croft  dies  down, 
Or  the  pale  parsley  or  the  crisped  anise, 
Again  they  grow,  another  year  they  flourish; 
But  we,  the  great,  the  valiant,  and  the  wise, 
Once  covered  over  in  the  hollow  earth, 
Sleep  a  long,  dreamless,  unawakening  sleep." 

The  original  verses  are  as  harmonious  as  almost  any  in  the 
language.  But  the  epithet  which  the  poet  has  prefixed  to 
parsley  is  very  undistihguishing.  Greek  poets  more  frequently 
than  Latin  gave  those  rather  which  suited  the  metre  than  those 
which  conveyed  a  peculiar  representation.  Neither  the  ;(Aa>/>a 
applied  to  parsley  is  in  any  of  its  senses  very  appropriate,  nor 
are  the  cv0oA.es  and  ovAov  to  anise,  but  rather  to  burrage. 

Catullus  has  had  innumerable  imitators  in  the  Phaleucian,  but 
the  only  dexterity  displayed  by  them  in  general  is  in  catching  a 
verse  and  sending  it  back  again  like  a  shuttlecock.  Until  our  own 
times,  there  is  little  thought,  little  imagination,  no  passion,  no  ten- 
derness, in  the  modern  Latin  poets.  Casimir  shows  most  genius 
and  most  facility ;  but  Casimir,  in  his  best  poem,  writes  — 

"  Sonora  buxi  filia  sutilis" 

Was  ever  allegory  treated  with  such  indignity  ?  What  becomes 
of  this  tight-laced  daughter  of  a  box-tree?  She  was  hanged. 
Where  ?  On  a  high  poplar.  Wherefore  ?  That  she  might  be 
the  more  easily  come  at  by  the  poet.  Pontanus  too  has  been 
praised  of  late ;  but  throughout  his  thick  volume  there  is 
scarcely  a  glimpse  of  poetry.  There  are  certain  eyes  which, 
seeing  objects  at  a  distance,  take  snow  for  sunshine. 

Two  verses  of  Joannes  Secundus,  almost  the  only  two  he 
has  written  worth  remembering,  outvalue  all  we  have  imported 
from  the  latter  ages.  They  would  have  been  quoted,  even 
from  Catullus  himself,  as  among  his  best,  — 

"  Non  est  suaviolum  dare,  lux  mea,  sed  dare  tantum 
Est  clcsideritim  flebile  suavioli." 


33O  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

The  six  of  Bembo  on  Venice  are  admirable  also.  And  there 
are  two  from  two  French  authors,  each  worth  two  Pontanuses. 
The  first  is  on  the  Irish,  — 

"  Gens  ratione  furens  et  mentem  pasta  chimaeris." 

The  second  (but  this  is  stolen  from  Manilius)  on  Franklin,  his 
discoveries  in  electricity,  and  his  energy  in  the  liberation  of  his 
country,  — 

"  Eripuit  ccelo  fulmen  sceptrumque  tyranno." 

Another  has  been  frequently  quoted  from  a  prize  poem  by 
Canning.  Such  as  it  is,  it  also  is  stolen  —  and  with  much  in- 
jury (as  stolen  things  often  are)  —  from  the  "  Nutricia  "  of 
Politian,  among  whose  poems  one  only,  that  on  the  death  of 
Ovid,  has  any  merit.  This  being  the  only  one  which  is  without 
metrical  faults,  and  the  rest  abounding  in  them,  a  reasonable 
doubt  may  arise  whether  he  could  have  written  it,  —  he  who 
has  written  by  the  dozen  such  as  the  following  :  — 

"  Impedis  amplexu  —  " 
intending  impedis  for  a  dactyl,  — 

"  Quando  expediret  inseris  hexametro  —  " 
for  a  pentameter,  -- 

"  Mutare  domi-num  dom-us  hasc  nescit  suum  —  " 
for  an  iambic,  — 

"Lucreti  fuit  hoc,  et  Euripidis  —  " 

for  a  Phaleucian;  and  in  whom  we  find  Plutarchus  short  in 
the  first  syllable,  Bis-ve  semelve,  and  Vaticani  long  in  the 
second  syllable  twice. 

Milton  has  been  thought  like  Politian  in  his  hexameters  and 
pentameters.  In  his  Elegies  he  is  Ovidian ;  but  he  is  rather 
the  fag  than  the  playfellow  of  Ovid.  Among  his  Latin  poems 
the  scazon  "  De  Hominis  Archetype  "  is  the  best.  In  those 
of  the  moderns  there  is  rarely  more  than  one  thing  missing ; 
namely,  the  poetry,  which  some  critics  seem  to  have  held  for  a 
matter  of  importance.  If  we  may  hazard  a  conjecture,  they  are 
in  the  right.  Robert  Smith  is  the  only  one  who  has  ascended 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  331 

into  the  higher  regions.  But  even  the  best  scholars,  since 
they  receive  most  of  their  opinions  from  tradition,  and  stunted 
and  distorted  in  the  crevices  of  a  quadrangle,  will  be  slowly 
brought  to  conclude  that  his  poetry  is  better  (and  better  it  surely 
is)  than  the  greater  part  of  that  which  dazzles  them  from  the 
luminaries  of  the  Augustan  age.  In  vigor  and  harmony  of  dic- 
tion, in  the  selection  of  topics,  in  the  rejection  of  little  orna- 
ments, in  the  total  suppression  of  playful  prettinesses,  in  solidity 
and  magnitude  of  thought,  sustained  and  elevated  by  the  purest 
spirit  of  poetry,  we  find  nothing  in  the  Augustan  age  of  the 
same  continuity,  the  same  extent.  We  refer  to  the  poem  en- 
titled "  Platonis  Principia,"  in  which  there  are  a  hundred  and 
eleven  such  verses  as  are  scarcely  anywhere  together  in  all  the 
realms  of  poetry. 

The  alcaic  ode  of  the  same  writer,  "  Mare  Liberum,"  is  not 
without  slight  blemishes.     For  instance,  at  the  beginning,  — 

"  Primo  Creator  spiritus  halitu 
Caliginosi  regna  silentii 
Turbavit." 

In  Latinity  there  is  no  distinction  between  spiritus  and  halitus  ; 
and  if  theology  has  made  one,  the  halitus  can  never  be  said  to 
proceed  from  the  spiritus.  In  the  second  verse  the  lyric  metre 
requires  silent]  for  silent\\.  Cavillers  may  also  object  to  the 
elision  of  qua  at  the  conclusion,  — 

"  Et  rura  qua  ingentes  Amazon 
Rumpit  aquas,  violentus  amnis." 

It  has  never  been  elided  unless  at  the  close  of  a  polysyllable ; 
as,  among  innumerable  instances,  — 

"  Obliqua"  invidia  stimulisque  agitabat  amaris." 

This  fact  is  the  more  remarkable,  since  qua  and  prcz  are  elided  ; 
or,  speaking  more  properly,  coalesce. 

Et  tibi  prae  invidia  Nereides  increpitarent.  —  PROPERTIUS. 
Quce  omnia  bella  devoratis.  —  CATULLUS. 
Quce  imbelles  dant  praelia  cervi : 
Quce  Asia  circum.  —  VIRGIL. 

But  what  ode  in  any  language  is  more  animated  or  more 
sublime? 


332  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

In  reading  the  Classics  we  pass  over  false  quantities,  and 
defer  to  time  an  authority  we  refuse  to  reason.  But  never  can 
time  acquit  Horace  of  giving  us  false  measure  in  palus  aptaque 
remis,  nor  in  quomodo.  Whether  you  divide  or  unite  the  com- 
ponent parts  of  quomodo,  —  quo  and  modo,  —  the  case  is  the 
same.  And  as  palus  is  paludis  in  the  genitive  case,  salus  sa- 
lutis,  no  doubt  can  exist  of  its  quantity.  Modern  Latin  poets, 
nevertheless,  have  written  saluber.  Thomas  Warton,  a  good 
scholar,  and  if  once  fairly  out  of  Latinity  no  bad  poet,  writes  in 
a  Phaleucian  — 

"  Saluberrimis  et  herbis." 

There  is  also  a  strange  false  quantity  in  one  of  the  most  ac- 
curate and  profound  grammarians,  Menage.  He  wrote  an  in- 
scription, in  one  Latin  hexameter,  for  Mazarin's  college,  then 
recently  erected,  — 

"  Has  Phcebo  et  Musis  Mazarinus  consecrat  aedes." 

Every  vowel  is  long  before  z.  He  knew  it,  but  it  escaped  his 
observation,  as  things  we  know  often  do.  We  return  from  one 
learned  man  to  another,  more  immediately  the  object  of  our 
attention,  on  whom  the  same  appellation  was  conferred. 

Catullus  has  been  called  the  "  learned ;  "  and  critics  have 
been  curious  in  searching  after  the  origin  of  this  designation. 
Certainly  both  Virgil  and  Ovid  had  greatly  more  of  archaeology, 
and  borrowed  a  great  deal  more  of  the  Greeks.  But  Catullus 
was,  what  Horace  claims  for  himself,  the  first  who  imported  in- 
to Latin  poetry  any  vast  variety  of  their  metres.  Evidently  he 
translated  from  the  Greek  his  galliambic  on  Atys.  The  proof 
is,  that  "  Tympanum  tubam  Cybeles  "  would  be  opposite  to,  and 
inconsistent  with,  the  metre.  He  must  have  written  Typanum, 
finding  rvrravov  before  him.  But  as  while  he  was  in  the  army 
he  was  stationed  some  time  in  Bithynia  and  Phrygia,  perhaps 
he  had  acquired  the  language  spoken  in  the  highlands  of  those 
countries ;  in  the  lowlands  it  was  Greek.  No  doubt  his  curiosity 
led  him  to  the  temple  of  Cybele,  and  there  he  heard  the  an- 
cient hymns  in  celebration  of  that  goddess.  Nothing  breathes 
such  an  air  of  antiquity  as  his  galliambic,  which  must  surely 
have  been  translated  into  Greek  from  the  Phrygian.  Joseph 
Warton  in  the  intemperance  of  admiration  prefers  it  not  only 


THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  333 

to  every  work  of  Catullus,  but  to  every  one  in  the  language. 
There  is  indeed  a  gravity  and  solemnity  in  it,  a  fitness  and 
propriety  in  every  part,  unequalled  and  unrivalled.  Poetry 
can  however  rise  higher  than  these  "  templa  serena,"  and  has 
iLen  higher  with  Catullus.  No  human  works  are  so  perfect  as 
some  of  his,  but  many  are  incomparably  greater.  Among  the 
works  of  the  moderns,  the  fables  of  La  Fontaine  come  nearest 
to  perfection ;  but  are  there  none  grander  and  higher  ? 

This  intemperance  of  admiration  has  been  less  excusable 
in  some  living  critics  of  modern  Latin  poetry.  Yet  when  we 
consider  how  Erasmus,  a  singularly  wise  and  learned  man,  has 
erred  in  his  judgment  on  poetry,  saying,  while  he  speaks  of  Sido- 
nius  Apollinaris,  "Let  us  listen  to  our  Pindar,"  we  are  disposed 
to  be  gentle  and  lenient,  even  in  regard  to  one  who  has  de- 
clared his  opinion  that  the  elegies  of  Sannazar  "  may  compete 
with  Tibullus."  J  If  they  may,  it  can  be  only  in  the  number 
of  feet ;  and  there  they  are  quite  on  an  equality.  In  another 
part  of  the  volume,  which  contains  so  curious  a  decision,  some 
verses  are  quoted  from  the  "  Paradise  Regained  "  as  "  perhaps 
the  most  musical  the  author  ever  produced."  Let  us  pause  a 
few  moments  on  this  assertion,  and  examine  the  verses  referred 
to.  It  will  not  be  without  its  use  to  exhibit  their  real  charac- 
ter, because,  in  coming  closer  to  the  examination  of  Catullus, 
we  shall  likewise  be  obliged  to  confess,  that,  elegant  and  grace- 
ful as  he  is  to  a  degree  above  all  other  poets  in  the  more 
elaborate  of  his  compositions,  he  too  is  by  no  means  exempt 
from  blemishes  in  his  versification.  But  in  Milton  they  are 
flatnesses  ;  in  Catullus  they  are  asperities,  —  which  is  the  con- 
trary of  what  might  have  been  expected  from  the  characters  of 
the  men. 

There  is  many  a  critic  who  talks  of  harmony,  and  whose 
ear  seems  to  have  been  fashioned  out  of  the  callus  of  his  foot. 
"Quotus  enim  quisque  est,"  as  Cicero  says,  "qui  teneat  artem 
numerorum  atque  modorum  !  "  The  great  orator  himself,  con- 
summate master  of  the  science,  runs  from  rhetorical  into 
poetical  measure  at  this  very  place. 

"Numerorum  atque  modorum  " 

1  Mr.  Hallam  in  the  first  volume  of  his  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature 
of  Europe,"  p.  597. 


334  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

is  the  same  in  time  and  modulation  as  the  verses  in  Horace,  — 

"  Miserarum  est  neque  amori 
Dare  ludum  neque  dulci,"  etc. 

Well,  but  what  "  are  perhaps  the  most  musical  verses  Milton 
has  ever  produced?  "     They  are  these  (si  diis placet /)  :  — 

"  Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  wide  a  camp, 
When  Agrican  with  all  his  northern  powers 
Besieged  Albracoz,  as  romances  tell, 
The  city  of  Gallaphrone,/r0#z  thence  to  win 
The  fairest  of  her  sex,  Angelica 


His  daughter,  sought  by  many  prowest  knights, 
Both  Paynim  and  the  peers  of  C 


Charlemagne.' 


There  is  a  sad  hiatus  in  "Albracc#,  as."  On  the  whole, 
however,  the  verses  thus  unluckily  hit  upon  for  harmony  are 
fluent,  too  fluent;  they  are  feeble  in  the  extreme,  and  little 
better  than  prose,  either  in  thought  or  expression.  Still,  it  is 
better  to  praise  accidentally  in  the  wrong  place  than  to  censure 
universally.  The  passage  which  is  before  them  leads  us  to  that 
magnificent  view  of  the  cities  and  empires,  the  potentates  and 
armies,  in  all  their  strength  and  glory,  with  which  the  Tempter 
would  have  beguiled  our  Redeemer.  These  appear  to  have 
left  no  impression  on  the  critic,  who  much  prefers  what  every 
schoolboy  can  comprehend,  and  what  many  undergraduates 
could  have  composed.  But  it  is  somewhat,  no  doubt,  to  praise 
that  which  nobody  ever  praised  before,  and  to  pass  over  that 
which  suspends  by  its  grandeur  the  footstep  of  all  others. 

There  is  prodigious  and  desperate  vigor  in  the  Tempter's 
reply  to  our  Saviour's  reproof:  — 

"  All  hope  is  lost 

Of  my  reception  into  grace  :  what  worse  ? 
For  when  no  hooe  is  left,  is  left  no  fear. 
If  there  be  worse,  the  expectation  more 
Of  worse  torments  me  than  the  feeling  can. 
I  would  be  at  the  worst:  worst  is  my  port,1 
My  harbor,  and  my  ultimate  repose , 
The  end  I  would  attain,  my  final  good." 

Yet  Milton,  in  this  "  Paradise  Regained,"  seems  to  be  sub- 
ject to  strange  hallucinations  of  the  ear,  —  he  who  before  had 

1  A  daring  critic  might  suggest  fort  for  port,  since  harbor  makes  that 
word  unnecessary. 


THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  335 

greatly  excelled  all  poets  of  all  ages  in  the  science  and  display 
of  harmony.  And  if  in  his  last  poem  we  exhibit  his  deficien- 
cies, surely  we  never  shall  be  accused  of  disrespect  or  irrever- 
ence to  this  immortal  man.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
Creator  ever  created  one  altogether  so  great,  —  taking  into 
our  view  at  once  (as  much  indeed  as  can  at  once  be  taken  into 
it)  his  manly  virtues,  his  superhuman  genius,  his  zeal  for  truth, 
true  piety,  true  freedom,  his  eloquence  in  displaying  it,  his 
contempt  of  personal  power,  his  glory  and  exultation  in  his 
country's. 

Warton  and  Johnson  are  of  opinion  that  Milton  is  defective 
in  the  sense  of  harmony.  But  Warton  had  lost  his  ear  by 
laying  it  down  on  low"  and  swampy  places,  —  on  ballads  and 
sonnets ;  and  Johnson  was  a  deaf  adder  coiled  up  in  the  bram- 
bles of  party  prejudices :  he  was  acute  and  judicious,  he  was 
honest  and  generous,  he  was  forbearing  and  humane,  but  he 
was  cold  where  he  was  overshadowed.  The  poet's  peculiar 
excellence,  above  all  others,  was  in  his  exquisite  perception  of 
rhythm,  and  in  the  boundless  variety  he  has  given  it,  both  in 
verse  and  prose.  Virgil  comes  nearest  to  him  in  his  assiduous 
study  of  it,  and  in  his  complete  success.  With  the  poetical 
and  oratorical,  the  harmony  is  usually  in  proportion  to  the 
energy  of  passion.  But  the  numbers  may  be  transferred  :  thus 
the  heroic  has  been  carried  into  the  Georgics.  There  are 
many  pomps  and  vanities  in  that  fine  poem  which  we  would 
relinquish  unreluctantly  for  one  touch  of  nature  ;  such  as,  — 

"  It  tristis  arator 
Mcerentem  abjungens  fraterna  morte  juvencum. 

"  In  sorrow  goes  the  ploughman,  and  leads  off 
Unyoked  from  his  dead  mate  the  sorrowing  steer." 

Here  however  the  poet  is  not  seconded  by  the  language.  The 
ploughman  cannot  be  going  on  while  he  is  in  the  act  of  sepa- 
rating the  dead  ox  from  its  partner,  as  the  word  it  and  abjun- 
gens signify. 

We  shall  presently  show  that  Catullus  was  the  first  among  the 
Romans  in  whose  heroic  verse  there  is  nothing  harsh  and  dis- 
sonant. But  it  is  not  necessary  to  turn  to  the  grander  poetry 
of  Milton  for  verses  more  harmonious  than  those  adduced  ;  we 
find  them  even  in  the  midst  of  his  prose.  Whether  he  is  to  be 


33^  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

censured  for  giving  way  to  his  genius  in  such  compositions  Is 
remote  from  the  question  now  before  us.  But  what  magnifi- 
cence of  thought  is  here  !  how  totally  free  is  the  expression 
from  the  encumbrances  of  amplification,  from  the  crutches 
and  cushions  of  swollen  feebleness  ! 

"  When  God  commands  to  take  the  trumpet 
And  blow  a  shriller  and  a  louder  blast, 
It  rests  not  in  Man's  will  what  he  shall  do, 
Or  what  he  shall  forbear." 

This  sentence  in  the  "  Treatise  on  Prelaty  "  is  printed  in  prose  : 
it  sounds  like  inspiration.  "  It  rested  not  in  Milton's  will  "  to 
crack  his  organ-pipe,  for  the  sake  of  splitting  and  attenuating 
the  gush  of  harmony. 

We  will  now  give  the  reason  for  the  "  falling  sickness  "  with 
which  several  of  his  verses  are  stricken.  He  was  too  fond  of 
showing  what  he  had  read,  and  the  things  he  has  taken  from 
others  are  always  much  worse  than  his  own.  Habituated  to 
Italian  poetry,  he  knew  that  the  verses  are  rarely  composed  of 
pure  iambics,  or  of  iambics  mixed  with  spondees,  but  contain  a 
great  variety  of  feet,  or  rather  of  subdivisions.  When  he  wrote 
such  a  line  as  — 

"  In  the  bosom  of  bliss  and  light  of  light,"  — 

he  thought  he  had  sufficient  authority  in  Dante,  Petrarca,  Ari- 
osto,  and  Tasso,  who  wrote  — 

?uesta  selva  selvaggia.  —  DANTE. 
ra  le  vane  speranze.  —  PETRARCA. 
Con  la  gente  di  Francia.  —  ARIOSTO. 
Canto  1'armi  pietose.  —  TASSO. 

And  there  is  no  verse  whatsoever  in  any  of  his  poems  for  the 
metre  of  which  he  has  not  an  Italian  prototype. 
("The  critic  who  knows  anything  of  poetry,  and  is  resolved  to 
select  a  passage  from  the  "  Paradise  Regained,"  will  prefer  this 
other  far  above  the  rest,  and  may  compare  it,  without  fear  of 
ridicule  or  reprehension,  to  the  noblest  in  the  nobler  poem : 

"  And  either  tropic  now 

'Gan  thunder,  and  both  ends  of  heaven  ;  the  clouds, 
From  many  a  horrid  rift,  abortive  poured 
Fierce  rain  with  lightning  mixed,  water  with  fire, 
In  ruin  reconciled  ;  nor  slept  the  winds 


THE   POEMS   OF    CATULLUS.  337 

Within  their  stony  caves,  but  rushed  abroad 

From  the  four  hinges  of  the  world,  and  fell 

On  the  vexed  wilderness,  whose  tallest  pines, 

Though  rooted  deep  as  high,  and  sturdiest  oaks, 

Bowed  their  stiff  necks,  loaden  with  stormy  blasts, 

Or  torn  up  sheer.     Ill  wast  thou  shrouded  then, 

O  patient  Son  of  God !  yet  only  stood'st 

Unshaken !     Nor  yet  stayed  the  terror  there  : 

Infernal  ghosts  and  hellish  furies  round 

Environed  thee ;  some  howled,  some  yelled,  some  shrieked, 

Some  bent  at  thee  their  fiery  darts,  while  thou 

Sat'st  unappalled  in  calm  and  sinless  peace." 

No  such  poetry  as  this  has  been  written  since,  and  little  at 
any  time  before.  But  Homer  would  not  have  attributed  to  the 
pine  what  belongs  to  the  oak.  The  tallest  pines  have  super- 
ficial roots;  they  certainly  are  never  "  deep  as  high,"  —  oaks 
are  said  to  be  ;  and  if  the  saying  is  not  phytologically  true,  it  is 
poetically,  although  the  oak  itself  does  not  quite  send 
"  radicem  ad  Tartara." 

There  is  another  small  oversight,  — 

"  yet  only  stood'st 
Unshaken." 
Below  we  find  — 

"  Sat'st  unappalled." l 

But  what  verses  are  the  following :  — 

"  And  made  him  bow  to  the  gods  of  his  wives.  .  .  . 
Cast  wanton  eyes  on  the  daughters  of  men.  .  .  . 
After  forty  days'  fasting  had  remained.  .  .  . 
And  with  these  words  his  temptation  pursued.  .  .  . 
Not  difficult  if  thou  hearken  to  me." 

1  But  Milion's  most  extraordinary  oversight  is  in  "  L' Allegro,"  — 

"  Hence  loathed  Melancholy  ! 
Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  born." 

Unquestionably  he  meant  to  have  written  Erebus  instead  of  Cerberus, 
whom  no  imagination  could  represent  as  the  sire  of  a  goddess.  Midnight 
is  scarcely  to  be  converted  into  one,  or  indeed  into  any  allegorical  per- 
sonage :  and  the  word  "  blackest "  is  far  from  aiding  it.  Milton  is  sin- 
gularly unfortunate  in  allegory,  but  nowhere  more  so  than  here.  The 
daughter  of  Cerberus  takes  the  veil,  takes  the 

"  Sable  stole  of  Cyprus  lawn," 
and  becomes,  now  her  father  is  out  of  the  way, 

"  A  nun  devout  and  pure." 
22 


338  THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

It  is  pleasanter  to  quote  such  a  description  as  no  poet,  not 
even  Milton  himself,  ever  gave  before,  of  Morning,  — 

"  Who  with  her  radiant  finger  stilled  the  roar 
Of  thunder,  chased  the  clouds  and  laid  the  winds 
And  grisly  spectres,  which  the  Fiend  had  raised 
To  tempt  the  son  of  God  with  terrors  dire." 

In  Catullus  we  see  morning  in  another  aspect ;  not  per- 
sonified. And  a  more  beautiful  description,  a  sentence  on 
the  whole  more  harmonious,  or  one  in  which  every  verse  is 
better  adapted  to  its  peculiar  office,  is  neither  to  be  found 
nor  conceived,  — 

"  Heic  qualis  flatu  placidum  mare  matutino 
Horrificans  zephyrus  proclivas  incitat  undas, 
Aurora  exoriente  vagi  sub  lumina  solis, 
Quae  tarde  primum  dementi  flamine  pulsae 
Procedunt,  leni  resonant  plangore  cachinni, 
Post,  vento  crescente,  magis  magis  increbescunt, 
Purpureaque  procul  nantes  a  luce  refulgent." 

Our  translation  is  very  inadequate  :  — 

"  As,  by  the  Zephyr  wakened,  underneath 
The  sun's  expansive  gaze  the  waves  move  on 
Slowly  and  placidly,  with  gentle  plash 
Against  each  other,  and  light  laugh  ;  but  soon, 
The  breezes  freshening,  rough  and  huge  they  swell, 
Afar  refulgent  in  the  crimson  east." 

What  a  fall  is  there  from  these  lofty  cliffs,  dashing  back  the 
waves  against  the  winds  that  sent  them  !  what  a  fall  is  there  to 
the  "  wracks  and  flaws  "  which  Milton  tells  us  — 

"  Are  to  the  main  as  inconsiderable 
And  harmless,  if  not  wholesome,  as  a  sneeze" 

In  the  lines  below,  from  the  same  poem,  the  good  and  bad 
are  strangely  mingled,  —  the  poet  keeping  in  his  verse,  how- 
ever, the  firmness  and  majesty  of  his  march  :  — 

"  So  saying,  he  caught  him  up,  and,  without  wing 
Of  hippogrify  bore  through  the  air  sublime, 
Over  the  wilderness  and  o'er  the  plain: 
Till  underneath  them  fair  Jerusalem, 
The  holy  city,  lifted  high  her  towers, 
And  higher  yet  the  glorious  temple  reared 
Her  pile ',  far  off  appearing  like  a  mount 
Of  alabaster,  topped  with  golden  spires" 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  339 

Splendid  as  this  description  is,  it  bears  no  resemblance  what- 
soever to  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  It  is  like  one  of  those 
fancies  in  which  the  earlier  painters  of  Florence,  Pisa,  Lucca, 
and  Siena  were  fond  of  indulging,  —  not  for  similitude,  but  for 
effect.  The  poets  of  Greece  and  Rome  allowed  themselves  no 
such  latitude.  The  Palace  of  the  Sun,  depicted  so  gorgeously 
by  Ovid,  where  imagination  might  wander  unrestricted,  contains 
nowhere  an  inappropriate  decoration. 

No  two  poets  are  more  dissimilar  in  thought  and  feeling 
than  Milton  and  Catullus ;  yet  we  have  chosen  to  place  them 
in  juxtaposition,  because  the  Latin  language  in  the  time  of 
Catullus  was  nearly  in  the  same  state  as  the  English  in  the  time 
of  Milton.  Each  had  attained  its  full  perfection,  and  yet  the 
vestiges  of  antiquity  were  preserved  in  each.  Virgil  and  Pro- 
pertius  were  in  regard  to  the  one  poet  what  Dryden  and  Waller 
were  in  regard  to  the  other :  they  removed  the  archaisms,  but 
the  herbage  grew  up  rarer  and  slenderer  after  those  extirpations. 
If  so  consummate  a  master  of  versification  as  Milton  is  con- 
victed of  faults  so  numerous  and  so  grave  in  it,  pardon  will  the 
more  easily  be  granted  to  Catullus.  Another  defect  is  likewise 
common  to  both  ;  namely,  the  disposition  or  ordinance  of  parts. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  any  other  two  poets,  however  low 
their  station  in  that  capacity,  two  such  signal  examples  of  dis- 
proportion as  are  exhibited  in  "  The  Nuptials  of  Peleus  and 
Thetis  "  and  in  "  The  Masque  of  Comus."  The  better  part  of 
the  former  is  the  description  of  a  tapestry;  the  better  part 
of  the  latter  are  three  undramatic  soliloquies.  In  other  re- 
spects, the  oversights  of  Catullus  are  fewer ;  and  in  "  Comus  " 
there  is  occasional  extravagance  of  expression  such  as  we  never 
find  in  Catullus,  or  in  the  playful  Ovid,  or  in  any  the  least 
correct  of  the  ancients.  For  example,  we  read  of 

"  The  sea-girt  isles, 

That,  like  to  rich  and  various  gems,  inlay 
The  unadorned  bosom  of  the  deep." 

How  "  unadorned,"  if  inlaid  with  "  rich  and  various  gems  "  ? 
This  is  a  pendant  to  be  placed  exactly  opposite  :  — 

"  The  silken  vest  Prince  Vortigern  had  on 
Which  from  a  naked  Pict  his  grandsire  won." 


34O  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

We  come  presently  to 

"  The  sounds  and  seas." 

Sounds  are  parts  of  seas.  Comus,  on  the  borders  of  North 
Wales,  talks  of 

"  A  green  mantling  vine, 
That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill," 
and  of 

"  Plucking  ripe  clusters." 

Anon  we  hear  of  "  stabled  wolves."  What  wolves  can  those 
be?  The  faults  we  find  in  the  poet  we  have  undertaken  to 
review  we  shall  at  the  same  time  freely  show. 

CARMEN  I.  "  Ad  Cornelium  Nepotem."  In  verse  4  we 
read  — 

"  Jam  turn  cum  ausus  es." 

We  believe  the  poet,  and  all  the  writers  of  his  age,  wrote 
quum.  Quoi  for  cui  grew  obsolete  much  earlier,  but  was  al- 
ways thus  spelled  by  Catullus.  The  best  authors  at  all  times 
wrote  the  adverb  quum. 

CARMEN  II.  "  Ad  Passerem  Lesbiae."  In  verse  8  we  read 
"  a^rquiescat ;"  the  poet  wrote  "  a^/quiescat,"  which  sounds 
fuller. 

CARMEN  III.  "  Luctus  in  Morte  Passeris."  This  poem  and 
the  preceding  seem  to  have  been  admired,  both  by  the  ancients 
and  the  moderns,  above  all  the  rest.  Beautiful  indeed  they  are. 
Grammarians  may  find  fault  with  the  hiatus  in 

"  O  factum  mal<f !     O  miselle  passer ! " 
poets  will  not. 

We  shall  now,  before  we  go  farther,  notice  the  metre.  Reg- 
ularly the  Phaleucian  verse  is  composed  of  four  trochees  and 
one  dactyl ;  so  is  the  Sapphic,  but  in  another  order.  The 
Phaleucian  employs  the  dactyl  in  the  second  place ;  the  Sap- 
phic employs  it  in  the  third.  But  the  Latin  poets  are  fonder 
of  a  spondee  in  the  first.  Catullus  frequently  admits  an  iambic  ; 
as  in 

"  Meas  esse  aliquid  putare  nugas. 
Tua  nunc  opera  mese  puellae,"  etc. 

CARMEN  IV.  "  Dedicatio  Phaseli."  This  is  a  senarian,  and 
composed  of  pure  iambics.  Nothing  can  surpass  its  elegance. 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  341 

The  following  bears  a  near  resemblance  to  it  in  the  beginning, 
and  may  be  offered  as  a  kind  of  paraphrase  :  — 

"The  vessel  which  lies  here  at  last 
Had  once  stout  ribs  and  topping  mast, 
And  whate'er  wind  there  might  prevail, 
Was  ready  for  a  row  or  sail. 
It  now  lies  idle  on  its  side, 
Forgetful  o'er  the  waves  to  glide. 
And  yet  there  have  been  days  of  yore 
When  pretty  maids  their  posies  bore 
To  crown  its  prow,  its  deck  to  trim, 
And  freight  it  with  a  world  of  whim. 
A  thousand  stories  it  could  tell, 
But  it  loves  secrecy  too  well. 
Come  closer,  my  sweet  girl !  pray  do  I 
There  may  be  still  one  left  for  you." 

CARMEN  V.  "Ad  Lesbiam."  It  is  difficult  to  vary  our  ex- 
pression of  delight  at  reading  the  first  three  poems  which  Les- 
bia  and  her  sparrow  have  occasioned.  This  is  the  last  of  them 
that  is  fervid  and  tender.  There  is  love  in  many  of  the  others, 
but  impure  and  turbid,  and  the  object  of  it  soon  presents  to 
us  an  aspect  far  less  attractive. 

CARMEN  VI.  "  Ad  Flavium."  Whoever  thinks  it  worth  his 
while  to  peruse  this  poem,  must  enclose  in  a  parenthesis  the 
words  "  Nequicquam  taciturn."  Taciturn  is  here  a  participle  : 
and  the  words  mean,  "  It  is  in  vain  that  you  try  to  keep  it  a 
secret." 

CARMEN  VII.  "  Again  to  Lesbia."  Here,  as  in  all  his  hen- 
decasyllabics,  not  only  are  the  single  verses  full  of  harmony,  a 
merit  to  which  other  writers  of  them  not  unfrequently  have  at- 
tained, but  the  sentences  leave  the  ear  no  "  aching  void,"  as 
theirs  do. 

CARMEN  VIII.  "Ad  seipsum."  This  is  the  first  of  the 
scazons.  The  metre  in  a  long  poem  would  perhaps  be  more 
tedious  than  any.  Catullus,  with  admirable  judgment,  has 
never  exceeded  the  quantity  of  twenty-one  verses  in  it.  No 
poet,  uttering  his  own  sentiments  on  his  own  condition  in  a 
soliloquy,  has  evinced  such  power  in  the  expression  of  passion, 
in  its  sudden  throbs  and  changes,  as  Catullus  has  done  here. 

In  Doering's  edition  we  read,  verse  14, — 

"  At  tu  dolebis,  cum  rogaberis  nulla, 
Scelesta!  nocte." 


342  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

No  such  pause  is  anywhere  else  in  the  poet.  In  Scaliger  the 
verses  are,  — 

"  At  tu  dolebis,  quum  rogaberis  nulla. 
Scelesta  rere,  quae  tibi  manet  vita." 

\ 

The  punctuation  in  most  foreign  books,  however,  and  in  all 
English,  is  too  frequent ;  so  that  we  have  snatches  and  broken 
bars  of  tune,  but  seldom  tune  entire.  Scaliger's  reading  is 
probably  the  true  one,  by  removing  the  comma  after  rere, — 

"  Scelesta  rere  quae  tibi  manet  vita  ! 
{Consider  what  must  be  the  remainder  of  your  life ! )  " 

Now,  certainly  there  were  many  words  obliterated  in  the 
only  copy  of  our  author.  It  was  found  in  a  cellar,  and  under  a 
wine-barrel.  Thus  the  second  word  in  the  second  line  appears 
to  have  left  no  traces  behind  it ;  otherwise,  words  so  different 
as  nocte  and  rere  could  never  have  been  mistaken.  Since 
the  place  is  open  to*  conjecture,  therefore,  and  since  every 
expression  round  about  it  is  energetic,  we  might  suggest  an- 
other reading :  — 

"  At  tu  dolebis  quum  rogaberis  nullo, 
Scelesta  !  nullo.     Quae  tibi  manet  vita  ? 
Quis  nunc  te  adibit?  quoi  videberis  bella  ? 
Quern  nunc  amabis  ?  quojus  esse  diceris  ? 
Quern  basiabis  ?  quoi  labella  mordebis? 
At  tu,  Catulle  !  destinatus  obdura." 

Which  we  will  venture  to  translate  :  — 

- 

"  But  you  shall  grieve  while  none  complains,  — 
None,  Lesbia !     None.     Think  what  remains 
For  one  so  fickle,  so  untrue ! 
Henceforth,  O  wretched  Lesbia !  who 
Shall  call  you  dear,  —  shall  call  you  his  ? 
Whom  shall  you  love,  or  who  shall  kiss 
Those  lips  again  ?     Catullus  !   thou 
Be  firm,  be  ever  firm  as  now." 

The  angry  taunt  very  naturally  precedes  the  impatient  ex- 
postulation. The  repetition  of  nullo  is  surely  not  unexpected. 
Nullus  was  often  used  absolutely  in  the  best  times  of  Latinity. 
"  Ab  nullo  repetere,"  and  "  nullo  aut  paucissimis  praesentibus," 
by  Sallust.  "  Qui  scire  possum?  nullus  plus,"  by  Plautus. 
"  Vivis  his  incolumibusque,  liber  esse  nullus  potest,"  by  Cicero. 
It  may  as  well  be  noticed  here  that  basiare,  basium,  basiatio, 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  343 

are  words  unused  by  Virgil,  Propertius,  Horace,  Ovid,  or  Ti- 
bullus.  They  belonged  to  Cisalpine  Gaul  more  especially,  al- 
though the  root  has  now  extended  through  all  Italy,  and  has 
quite  supplanted  osculum  and  its  descendants.  Bellus  has  done 
the  same  in  regard  to  formosus,  which  has  lost  its  footing  in 
Italy,  although  it  retains  it  in  Spain,  slightly  shaken,  in  hermoso. 
The  saviari  and  savium  of  Plautus,  Terence,  Cicero,  and  Ca- 
tullus are  never  found  in  the  poets  of  the  Augustan  age,  to  the 
best  of  our  recollection,  excepting  once  in  Propertius. 

CARMEN  IX.  "Ad  Verannium."  Nothing  was  ever  livelier 
or  more  cordial  than  the  welcome  here  given  to  Verannius  on 
his  return  from  Spain.  It  is  comprised  in  eleven  verses.  Our 
poets  on  such  an  occasion  would  have  spread  out  a  larger 
table-cloth  with  a  less  exquisite  dessert  upon  it. 

CARMEN  X.  "  De  Varri  Scorto."  Instead  of  expatiating  on 
this,  which  contains  in  truth  some  rather  coarse  expressions, 
but  is  witty  and  characteristical,  we  will  subjoin  a  paraphrase, 
with  a  few  defalcations  :  — 

Varrus  would  take  me  t*  other  day 

To  see  a  little  girl  he  knew, 
Pretty  and  witty  in  her  way, 

With  impudence  enough  for  two. 

Scarce  are  we  seated,  ere  she  chatters 

(As  pretty  girls  are  wont  to  do) 
About  all  persons,  places,  matters  — 

"  And  pray,  what  has  been  done  for  you  ?  " 

"  Bithynia,  lady,"  I  replied, 

"  Is  a  fine  province  for  a  pretor, 
For  none  (I  promise  you)  beside, 

And  least  of  all  am  I  her  debtor." 

"  Sorry  for  that !  "  said  she.     "  However 

You  have  brought  with  you,  I  dare  say, 
Some  litter  bearers:  none  so  clever 

In  any  other  part  as  they. 

"  Bithynia  is  the  very  place 

For  all  that 's  steady,  tall,  and  straight ; 

It  is  the  nature  of  the  race. 

Could  not  you  lend  me  six  or  eight  ? " 

"  Why,  six  or  eight  of  them  or  so," 

Said  I,  determined  to  be  grand  ; 
"  My  fortune  is  not  quite  so  low 

But  these  are  still  at  my  command." 


344  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

"  You  '11  send  them  ? "     "  Willingly  !  "  I  told  her, 

Altho'  I  had  not  here  or  there 
One  who  could  carry  on  his  shoulder 

The  leg  of  an  old  broken  chair. 

"  Catullus  !  what  a  charming  hap  is 

Our  meeting  in  this  sort  of  way  ! 
I  would  be  carried  to  Serapis 

To-morrow."     "  Stay,  fair  lady,  stay ! 

"  You  overvalue  my  intention. 

Yes,  there  are  eight  —  there  may  be  nine  : 
I  merely  had  forgot  to  mention 

That  they  are  China's,  and  not  mine." 

Catullus  has  added  two  verses  which  we  have  not  translated, 
because  they  injure  the  poem,  — 

"  Sed  tu  insulsa  male  et  molesta  vivis 
Per  quam  non  licet  esse  negligentem." 

This,  if  said  at  all,  ought  not  to  be  said  to  the  lady.  The  re- 
flection might  be  (but  without  any  benefit  to  the  poetry)  made 
in  the  poet's  own  person.  Among  the  ancients  however,  when 
we  find  the  events  of  common  life  and  ordinary  people  turned 
into  verse,  —  as  here  for  instance,  and  in  the  "  Praxinoe  "  of 
Theocritus,  and  in  another  of  his  where  a  young  person  has 
part  of  her  attire  torn,  —  we  never  are  bored  with  prolixity  and 
platitude,  in  which  a  dull  moral  is  our  best  relief  at  the  close  of 
a  dull  story. 

CARMEN  XI.  "  Ad  Furium  et  Aurelium."  Furius  and  Aure- 
lius  were  probably  the  comrades  of  Catullus  in  Bithynia.  He 
appears  to  have  retained  his  friendship  for  them  not  extremely 
long.  Here  he  intrusts  them  with  a  message  for  Lesbia,  which 
they  were  fools  if  they  delivered,  although  there  is  abundant 
reason  for  believing  that  their  modesty  would  never  have  re- 
strained them.  He  may  well  call  these 

"  Non  bona  dicta." 

But  there  are  worse  in  reserve  for  themselves,  on  turning  over 
the  very  next  page.  The  last  verses  in  the  third  strophe  are 
printed,  — 

"  Gallicum  Rhenum  horribiles^w^  ulti- 
mosque  Britannos." 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  345 

The  enclitic  que  should  be  changed  to  ad,  since  it  could  not 
support  itself  without  the  intervention  of  an  aspirate,  — 

"  Gallicum  Rhenum  horribileis  ad  ulti- 
mosque  Britannos,"  — 

and  the  verse  "  Csesaris  visens,"  etc.,  placed  in  a  parenthesis. 
When  the  poet  wrote  these  Sapphics,  his  dislike  of  Caesar  had 
not  begun.  Perhaps  it  was  occasioned  long  afterward,  by  some 
inattention  of  the  great  commander  to  the  Valerian  family  on 
his  last  return  from  Transalpine  Gaul.  Here  he  writes,  — 

"  Caesaris  visens  monimenta  magni" 

Very  different  from  the  contemptuous  and  scurril  language  with 
which  he  addressed  him  latterly. 

CARMEN  XII.    "Ad   Asinium    Pollionem."      Asinius    Pollio 
nd  his  brother  were  striplings  when  this  poem  was  written, 
worst  but  most  admired  of  Virgil's  Eclogues  was  composed  • 
o  celebrate  the  birth  of  Pollio's  son,  in  his  consulate.     In  this 
Eclogue,  and  in  this  alone,  his  versification  fails  him  utterly. 
The  lines  afford  one  another  no  support.     For  instance,  this 
sequence,  — 

"  Ultima  Cumaei  venit  pm  carminis  aetas. 
Magnus  ab  integro  saeclorum  nascitur  ordo, 
Jam  redit  et  virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna." 

Toss  them  in  a  bag  and  throw  them  out,  and  they  will  fall  as 
rightly  in  one  place  as  another.  Any  one  of  them  may  come 
first,  any  one  of  them  may  come  last,  any  one  of  them  may 
come  intermediately ;  better  that  any  one  should  never  come 
at  all.  Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  Eclogue,  the  ampulla 
of  Virgil  is  puffier  than  the  worst  of  Statius  or  Lucan. 

In  the  poem  before  us  it  seems  that  Asinius,  for  whose  infant 
the  universe  was  to  change  its  aspect,  for  whom  grapes  were  to 
hang  upon  thorns,  for  whom  the  hardest  oaks  were  to  exude 
honey,  for  whom  the  rams  in  the  meadows  were  to  dye  their 
own  fleeces  with  murex  and  saffron,  —  this  Asinius  picked 
Catullus's  pocket  of  his  handkerchief.  Catullus  tells  him  he  is 
a  blockhead  if  he  is  ignorant  that  there  is  no  wit  in  such  a 
trick,  which  he  says  is  a  very  dirty  one,  and  appeals  to  the 
brother,  calling  him  a  smart  and  clever  lad.  He  declares  he 


346  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

does  not  mind  so  much  the  value  of  the  handkerchief,  as 
because  it  was  a  present  sent  to  him  out  of  Spain  by  his  friends 
Fabullus  and  Verannius,  who  united  (it  seems)  their  fiscal 
forces  in  the  investment.  This  is  among  the  lighter  effusions 
of  the  volume,  and  worth  as  little  as  Virgil's  Eclogue,  though 
exempt  from  such  grave  faults. 

CARMEN  XIII.  "Ad  Fabullum."  A  pleasant  invitation  to 
dinner,  as  in  verse  8,  — 

"  Plenus  sacculus  est  aranearum." 

It  is  curious  that  Doering,  so  sedulous  in  collecting  scraps  of 
similitudes,  never  thought  of  this  in  Plautus,  where  the  idea  and 
expression  too  are  so  alike,  — 

"  Ita  inaniis  sunt  oppletae  atque  araneis." 
Let  us  offer  a  paraphrase,  — 

"  With  me,  Fabullus,  you  shall  dine, 

And  gaudily,  I  promise  you, 
If  you  will  only  bring  the  wine, 
The  dinner,  and  some  beauty  too. 

0  With  all  your  frolic,  all  your  fun, 
I  have  some  little  of  my  own  — 
And  nothing  else  :  the  spiders  run 

Throughout  my  purse,  now  theirs  alone." 

He  goes  on  rather  too  far,  and  promises  his  invited  guest  so 
sweet  a  perfume  that  he  shall  pray  the  gods  to  become  all  nose ; 
that  is,  we  may  presume,  if  no  one  should  intervene  to  correct 
or  divert  in  part  a  wish  so  engrossing. 

CARMEN  XIV.  "  Ad  Calvum  Licinium."  The  poet  seems 
in  general  to  have  been  very  inconstant  in  his  friendships,  but 
there  is  no  evidence  that  he  ever  was  estranged  from  Calvus. 
This  is  the  more  remarkable,  as  Calvus  was  a  poet,  the  only 
poet  among  his  friends,  and  wrote  in  the  same  style.  At  the 
close  of  the  poem  here  addressed  to  him,  properly  ending  at 
the  twenty-third  verse,  we  find  four  others  appended.  They 
have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it,  they  are  a  worthless  fragment ; 
and  it  is  a  pity  that  the  wine-cask,  which  rotted  off  and  dislo- 
cated so  many  pieces,  did  not  leak  on  and  obliterate  this,  and 
many  similar,  particularly  the  next  two.  We  should  then,  it 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  347 

may  be  argued,  have  known  less  of  the  author's  character.  So 
much  the  better.  Unless  by  knowing  the  evil  that  is  in  any 
one  we  can  benefit  him  or  ourselves  or  society,  it  is  desirable 
not  to  know  it  at  all. 

CARMEN  XVII.  "  Ad  Coloniam."  Here  are  a  few  beautiful 
verses  in  a  very  indifferent  piece  of  poetry.  We  shall  tran- 
scribe them,  partly  for  their  beauty,  and  partly  to  remove  an 
obscurity :  — 

"  Quoi  quum  sit  viridissimo  nupta  flore  puella, 
Et  puella  tenellulo  delicatior  haedo, 
Asservanda  nigerrimis  diligentius  uvis ; 
Ludere  hanc  sinit  ut  lubet,  nee  pili  facit  uni, 
Nee  se  sublevat  ex  sua  parte ;  sed  velut  alnus 
In  fossa  Liguri  jacet  suppernata  securi, 
Tantundem  omnia  sentiens  quam  si  nulla  sit  usquam, 
Tails  iste  meus  stupor  nil  viclet,  nihil  audit, 
Ipse  qui  sit,  utrum  sit,  an  non  sit,  id  quoque  nescit." 

This  is  in  the  spirit  of  Aristophanes,  and  we  may  fancy  we 
hear  his  voice  in  the  cantilena.  Asservanda  should  be  printed 
adservanda  ;  and  suppernata,  subpernata.  Liguri  is  doubtful. 
Ligurw  is  the  genitive  case  of  Ligur.  The  Ligurians  may  in 
ancient  times,  as  in  modern,  have  exercised  their  industry  out 
of  their  own  country,  and  the  poorer  of  them  may  have  been 
hewers  of  wood ;  then  securis  Liguris  would  be  the  right  in- 
terpretation. But  there  are  few  countries  in  which  there  are 
fewer  ditches,  or  fewer  alders,  than  in  Liguria ;  we  who  have 
travelled  through  the  country  in  all  directions  do  not  remem- 
ber to  have  seen  a  single  one  of  either.  It  would  be  going 
farther,  but  going  where  both  might  be  found  readily,  if  we 
went  to  the  Liger,  and  read  "  In  fossa  LigenV." 

CARMINA  XVIII.,  XIX.,  XX.  "Ad  Priapum."  The  first  of 
these  three  is  a  Dedication  to  the  God  of  Gardens.  In  the 
two  following  the  poet  speaks  in  his  own  person.  The  first 
contains  only  four  lines.  The  second  is  descriptive,  and  ter- 
minates with  pleasantry,  — 

"O  pueri !  malas  abstinete  rapinas! 
Vicinus  prope  dives  est,  negligensque  Priapus ; 
Inde  sumite  ;  semita  haec  deinde  vos  feret  ipsa." 

In  the  third  are  these  exquisite  verses :  — 

"  Mihi  corolla  picta  vere  ponitur, 
Mihi  rubens  arista  sole  fervido, 


348  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

Mihi  virente  dulcis  uva  pampino, 
Mihique  glauca  duro  oliva  frigore. 
Meis  capella  delicata  pascuis 
In  urbein  adulta  lacte  portat  ubera, 
Meisque  pinguis  agnus  ex  ovilibus 
Gravem  domum  remittit  aere  dexteram, 
Teneraque  matre  mugiente  vaccula 
Deum  profundit  ante  templa  sanguinem." 

We  will  attempt  to  translate  them  :  — 

"  In  spring  the  many-colored  crown, 
The  sheaves  in  summer,  ruddy-brown, 
The  autumn's  twisting  tendrils  green, 
With  nectar-gushing  grapes  between,  — 
Some  pink,  some  purple,  some  bright  gold,—* 
Then  shrivelled  olive,  blue  with  cold, 
Are  all  for  me  :  for  me  the  goat 
Comes  with  her  milk  from  hills  remote. 
And  fatted  lamb,  and  calf  pursued 
By  moaning  mother,  sheds  her  blood." 

The  third  verse,  as  printed  in  this  edition  and  most  others, 
is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  metre  in  the  pure  iambic,  — 

"  Agellulum  hunc,  sinistra,  tute  quam  vides." 

And  tute  is  inelegant  and  useless.  Scaliger  proposed  "sinistera 
ante  quern  vides."  He  was  near  the  mark,  but  missed  it ;  for 
Catullus  would  never  have  written  "  sinistera."  It  is  very 
probable  that  he  wrote  the  verse  — 

"Agellulum  hunc  sinistra,  inante  quern  vides. 
On  the  left  hand,  just  before  you." 

Inante  and  exante  were  applied  to  time  rather  than  place,  but 
not  exclusively. 

CARMEN  XXII.     "  Ad  Varrum."     This  may  be  advantage- 
ously contracted  in  a  paraphrase,  — 

"  Suffenus,  whom  so  well  you  know, 
My  Varrus,  as  a  wit  and  beau 
Of  smart  address  and  smirking  smile, 
Will  write  you  verses  by  the  mile. 
You  cannot  meet  with  daintier  fare 
Than  titlepage  and  binding  are ; 
But  when  you  once  begin  to  read 
You  find  it  sorry  stuff  indeed, 
And  you  are  ready  to  cry  out 
Upon  this  beau,  '  Ah !  what  a  lout ! ' 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  349 

No  man  on  earth  so  proud  as  he 
Of  his  own  precious  poetry, 
Or  knows  such  perfect  bliss  as  when 
He  takes  in  hand  that  nibbled  pen. 

Have  we  not  all  some  faults  like  these  ? 
Are  we  not  all  Suffenuses  ? 
In  others  the  defect  we  find, 
But  cannot  see  our  sack  behind." 

CARMEN  XXV.  "  Ad  Thallum."  It  is  hardly  safe  to  steal 
a  laugh  here,  and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  refrain  from  it.  Some  of 
the  verses  must  be  transposed.  Those  which  are  printed  — 

"  Thalle  !  turbida  rapacior  procella, 
Cum  de  vid  mulier  aves  ostendit  oscitantes, 
Remitte  pallium  mihi,  meum  quod  involaste  — 

ought  to  be  printed  — 

"Thalle  !  turbida  rapacior  procella, 
Remitte  pallium  mihi,  meum,  quod  involaste 
Quurn  '  deviaj '  mulier  aves  ostendit  oscitantes." 

This  shows  that  Thallus  had  purloined  Catullus's  cloak  while 
he  was  looking  at  a  nest  of  owls  ;  for  such  are  device  aves,  and  so 
they  are  called  by  Ovid.  It  is  doubtful  whether  the  right  read- 
ing is  oscitantes •,  "  opening  their  beaks,"  or  oscinentes,  which  is 
applied  to  birds  that  do  not  sing,  —  by  Valerius  Maximus  to 
crows,  by  Livy  to  birds  of  omen.  In  the  present  case  we  may 
believe  them  to  be  birds  of  augury,  and  inauspicious,  as  the 
word  always  signifies,  and  as  was  manifest  in  the  disaster  of 
Catullus  and  his  cloak.  In  the  eleventh  verse  there  is  a  false 
quantity,  — 

"  Inusta  turpiter  tibi  flagella  consmbillent." 

Was  there  not  such  a  word  as  contribulo  ? 

CARMEN  XXIX.  "  Ad  Caesarem."  This  is  the  poem  by  which 
the  author,  as  Cicero  remarks,  affixes  an  eternal  stigma  on  the 
name  of  Caesar,  but  which  the  most  powerful  and  the  best  tem- 
pered man  in  the  world  heard  without  any  expression  of  anger 
or  concern.  The  punctuation  appears  ill-placed  in  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  verses,  — 

"  Quid  est  ?  ait  sinistra  liberalitas  : 
Parum  expatravit.     An  parum  helluatus  est  ?" 


35O  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

We  would  write  them,  — 

"  Quid  est,  ain  ?     Sinistra  liberalitas 
Parum  expatravit  ? "  etc. 

"  Where  is  the  harm,  do  you  ask  ?  What !  has  this  left- 
handed  liberality  of  his,"  etc. 

CARMEN  XXX.  "Ad  Alphenum."  A  poem  of  sobs  and 
sighs,  of  complaint,  reproach,  tenderness,  sad  reflection,  and 
pure  poetry. 

CARMEN  XXXI.  "  Ad  Sirmionem  Peninsulam."  Never  was 
a  return  to  home  expressed  so  sensitively  and  beautifully  as 
here.  In  the  thirteenth  line  we  find  — 

"  Gaudete  vosque  Lydiae  lacus  undae." 

The  "  Lydian  waves  of  the  lake  "  would  be  an  odd  expression. 
Although,  according  to  a  groundless  and  somewhat  absurd 
tradition,  — 

"  Gens  Lyda  jugis  insedit  Etruscis,  —  " 

yet  no  gens  Lyda  could  ever  have  penetrated  to  these  Alpine 
regions.  One  of  the  Etrurian  nations  did  penetrate  so  far, 
whether  by  conquest  or  expulsion  is  uncertain.  But  Catullus 
here  calls  upon  Sirmio  to  rejoice  in  his  return,  and  he  invites 
the  waves  of  the  lake  to  laugh.  Whoever  has  seen  this  beauti- 
ful expanse  of  .water,  under  its  bright  sun  and  gentle  breezes, 
will  understand  the  poet's  expression ;  he  will  have  seen  the 
waves  laugh  and  dance.  Catullus,  no  doubt,  wrote 

"  Gaudete  vosque  '  Iwdiae  '  lacus  undae ! 
Ye  revellers  and  dancers  of  the  lake  !  " 

If  there  was  the  word  ludius,  which  we  know  there  was,  there 
must  also  have  been  ludia. 

CARMEN  XXXIV.  "Ad  Dianam."  A  hymn,  of  the  purest 
simplicity. 

CARMEN  XXXV.  "  Csecilium  invitat."  It  appears  that  Cse- 
cilius,  like  Catullus,  had  written  a  poem  on  Cybele.  Catullus 
invites  him  to  leave  Como  for  Verona,  — 

"  Quamvis  Candida  millies  puella 
Euntem  revocet,  manusque  collo 
Ambas  injiciens  roget  inorari." 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  351 

Which  may  be  rendered,  — 

"  Although  so  passing  fair  a  maid 
Call  twenty  times,  be  not  delayed  ; 
Nay,  do  not  be  delayed  although 
Both  arms  around  your  neck  she  throw." 

For  it  appears  she  was  desperately  in  love  with  him  from  the 
time  he  had  written  the  poem.  Catullus  says  it  is  written  so 
beautifully  that  he  can  pardon  the  excess  of  her  passion. 

CARMEN  XXXIX.  "  In  Egnatium."  This  is  the  second 
time  he  has  ridiculed  Egnatius,  —  a  Celtiberian,  and  overfond 
of  displaying  his  teeth  by  continually  laughing.  Part  of  the 
poem  is  destitute  of  merit,  and  indelicate  ;  the  other  part  may 
be  thus  translated,  or  paraphrased  rather  :  — 

Egnatius  has  fine  teeth,  and  those 

Eternally  Egnatius  shows. 

Some  criminal  is  being  tried 

For  murder,  and  they  open  wide  ; 

A  widow  wails  her  only  son,  — 

Widow  and  him  they  open  on. 

'T  is  a  disease,  I  'm  very  sure, 

And  wish  't  were  such  as  you  could  cure, 

My  good  Egnatius  !  for  what's  half 

So  silly  as  a  silly  laugh  ?  " 

We  cannot  agree  with  Doering  that  we  should  read,  in 
verse  1  1  ,  — 

Umber  aut  obesus  Etruscus." 


First,  because  the  porcus  and  obesus  convey  the  same  meaning 
without  any  distinction  ;  and  secondly,  because  the  distinction 
is  necessary  both  for  the  poet  and  the  fact.  The  Etrurians 
were  a  most  luxurious  people  ;  the  Umbrians,  a  pastoral  and 
industrious  one.  He  wishes  to  exhibit  a  contrast  between  these 
two  nations,  as  he  has  done  in  the  preceding  verse  between 
what  is  urbane  and  what  is  Sabine.  Therefore  he  wrote,  — 

"  Aut  parcus  Umber  aut  obesus  Hetruscus." 

CARMEN  XL.    "AdRavidum."     The  sixth  verse  is  printed 
improperly  — 

"  Quid  vis  ?  qua  lubet  esse  notus  opta-y  ?  " 
Read  — 

"  Quid  vis  ?  qua  lubet  esse  notus  ?  opta." 


352  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

"  Opta,"  —  make  your  option. 

CARMEN  XLII.  "Ad  Quandam."  We  should  not  notice 
this  "  ad  quandam "  were  it  not  to  correct  a  mistake  of 
Doering.  "  Ridentem  canis  ore  Gallicani"  —  his  note  on 
this  expression  is,  "  Epitheton  ornans,  pro  quovis  cane  venatico 
cujus  rictus  est  latior."  No,  the  "  canis  gallicus  "  is  the  grey- 
hound, whose  rictus  is  indeed  much  latior  than  that  of  other 
dogs ;  and  Catullus  always  uses  words  the  most  characteristic 
and  expressive. 

CARMEN  XLV.  "  De  Acme  et  Septimio."  Perhaps  this  poem 
has  been  admired  above  its  merit ;  but  there  is  one  exquisitely 
fine  passage  in  it,  and  replete  with  that  harmony  which,  as  we 
have  already  had  occasion  to  remark,  Catullus  alone  has  given 
to  the  Phaleucian  metre,  — 

"  At  Acme  leviter  caput  reflectens, 

Et  dulcis  pueri  ebrios  ocellos 

Isto  purpureo  ore  suaviata, 
4  Sic/  inquit,  '  mea  vita  Septimille  ! 

Huic  uno  domino  usque  serviamus.'  " 

CARMEN  XLVI.  "  De  Adventu  Veris."  He  leaves  Phrygia 
in  the  beginning  of  spring,  and  is  about  to  visit  the  celebrated 
cities  of  maritime  Asia.  What  beauty  and  vigor  of  expression 
is  there  in  — 

"  Jam  metis  praetrepidans  avet  vagari, 
Jam  laeti  studio  pedes  vigescunt." 

There  is  also  much  tenderness  at  the  close  in  the  short  valedic- 
tion to  his  companions,  who  set  out  together  with  him  in  the 
expedition,  and  will  return  (whenever  they  do  return)  by  vari- 
ous roads  into  their  native  country. 

CARMEN  L.  "  Ad  Licinium."  On  the  day  preceding  the 
composition  of  this  poem,  he  and  Licinius  had  agreed  to  write 
together  in  different  metres,  and  to  give  verse  for  verse.  Ca- 
tullus was  so  delighted  with  the  performances  of  Licinius  that 
he  could  never  rest,  he  tells  us,  until  he  had  signified  it  by  this 
graceful  little  poem. 

CARMEN  LI.  This  is  a  translation  from  Sappho's  ode,  and 
perhaps  is  the  first  that  had  ever  been  attempted  into  Latin, 
although  there  is  another  which  precedes  it  in  the  volume. 
Nothing  can  surpass  the  graces  of  this,  and  it  leaves  us  no  re- 
gret but  that  we  have  not  more  translations  by  him  of  Sappho's 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  353 

poetry.     He  has  copied  less  from  the  Greek  than  any  Latin 
poet  had  done  before  Tibullus. 

The  adonic  at  the  close  of  the  second  strophe  is  lost.  Many 
critics  have  attempted  to  substitute  one.  In  the  edition  before 
us  we  find  — 

"  Simul  te 

Lesbia  !  adspexi,  nihil  est  super  mi 
Vocis  in  ore" 

A  worse  cannot  be  devised. 

"  Quod  loquar  amens  " 

would  be  better.     The  ode  ends,  and  always  ended,  with 
"  Lumina  nocte." 

CARMEN  LIII.  "  De  Quodam  et  Calvo."  Calvus,  as  well 
as  Cicero,  spoke  publicly  against  Vatinius.  It  will  be  requisite 
to  write  out  the  five  verses  of  which  this  piece  of  Catullus  is 
composed,  — 

"  Risi  nescio  quern  modo  in  corona 
Qui  quum  mirifice  Vatiniana 
Meus  crimina  Calvus  explicasset 
Admirans  ait  haec  manusque  tollens, 
Di  magni !  salaputium  disertum  !  " 

Doering's  note  on  the  words  is  this :  "  Vox  nova,  ridicula  et, 
ut  videbatur,  plebeia  {salaputium}.  Catullum  ad  hos  versus 
scribendos  impulit."  He  goes  on  to  put  into  prose  what  Ca- 
tullus had  told  us  in  verse,  and  adds,  "  Catullus  a  risu  sibi  tem- 
perare  non  potuit."  Good  Herr  Doering  does  not  see  where  's 
the  fun.  It  lies  in  the  fact  of  Calvus  being  a  very  little  man, 
and  in  the  clown  hearing  a  very  little  man  so  eloquent,  and 
crying  out,  "  Heavens  above  !  what  a  clever  little  cocky ! " 
The  word  should  not  be  written  "  salapu/ium,"  but  "  salapu- 
.num."  The  termination  in  um  is  a  signification  of  endear- 
ment, as  deliciolum  for  delicia,  —  and  correspondently  the  ov 
in  Greek ;  iracSt'ov,  for  instance,  and  TratSapioi/.  It  cannot  be 
salepygium,  as  some  critics  have  proposed,  because  the  third 
syllable  in  this  word  (supposing  there  were  any  such)  would, 
according  to  its  Greek  origin,  be  short.  Perhaps  the  best 
reading  may  be  "  sal/pusium,"  from  sal  and  pusius.  Rustic 
terms  are  unlikely  to  be  compounded  with  accuracy.  In  old 
Latin  the  word,  or  words,  would  be  salt  (for  salts)  pusium. 

23 


354  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

But  /  is   equivalent  to  s ;  and  the  modern  Italian,  which  is 
founded  on  the  most  ancient  Latin,  has  putto. 
CARMEN  LIV.    "  Ad  Caesarem." 

"  Fuffitio  seni  recocto" 

On  this  is  the  note  "  Homo  recoctus  jam  dicitur  qui  in  rebus 
agendis  diu  multumque  agitatus,  versatus,  exercitatus,  et  quasi 
percoctus,  rerum  naturam  penitus  perspexit,"  etc. 

Surely  these  qualities  are  not  such  as  Catullus  or  Caesar 
ought  to  be  displeased  with.  But  "  senex  recoctus  "  means  an 
old  dandy  boiled  up  into  youth  again  in  Medea's  caldron.  In 
this  poem  Catullus  turns  into  ridicule  no  other  than  personal 
peculiarities  and  defects,  —  first  in  Otho,  then  in  Libo,  lastly 
in  Fuffitius. 

CARMEN  LVII.  "In  Mamurram  et  Caesarem."  If  Caesar 
had  hired  a  poet  to  write  such  wretched  verses  as  these  and 
swear  them  to  Catullus,  he  could  never  in  any  other  way  have 
more  injured  his  credit  as  a  poet.  The  "  Duo  Caesaris  Anti- 
Catones,"  which  are  remembered  as  having  been  so  bulky, 
could  never  have  fallen  on  Cato  so  fatally  as  this  Anti- Catullus 
on  Catullus. 

CARMEN  LXI.    "  De  Nuptiis  Juliae  et  Manlii."     Never  was 
there,  and  never  will  there   be   probably,  a  nuptial  song  of 
equal  beauty.     But  in  verse   129  there  is  a  false  quantity  as 
now  printed,  and  quite  unnoticed  by  the  editor,  — 
"  Desertum  domini  audiens." 

The  metre  does  not  well  admit  a  spondee *  for  the  second 
foot ;  it  should  be  a  trochee,  and  this  is  obtained  by  the  true 
reading,  "  Des/tum." 

CARMEN  LXII.    Another  nuptial  song,  and  properly  an  epi- 
thalamium  in  heroic  verse    and  very  masterly.     It  seems  in- 
credible, however,  that  the  last  lines,  beginning,  — 
"  At  tu  ne  pugna,"  — 

were  written  by  Catullus.  They  are  trivial ;  and  besides,  the 
young  singing  men  never  have  sung -so  long  together  in  the 
former  parts  assigned  to  them.  The  longest  of  these  consists 
of  nine  verses,  with  the  choral 

"  Hymen,  O  Hymensee ! " 
1  Yet  here,  in  two  hundred  and  thirty-five  verses  nine  begin  with  it. 


THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  355 

and  the  last  would  contain  eleven  with  it,  even  after  rejecting 
these  seven  which  intervene,  and  which,  if  admitted,  would 
double  the  usual  quantity.  We  would  throw  them  out  because 
there  is  no  room  for  them,  and  because  they  are  trash. 

CARMEN  LXIII.  This  has  ever  been,  and  ever  will  be,  the 
admiration  of  all  who  can  distinguish  the  grades  of  poetry. 
The  thirty-ninth  verse  is  printed,— 

"  Piger  his  labente.r  languore  oculos  sopor  operit." 

The  metre  will  not  allow  it.  We  must  read,  "  labante  lan- 
guore," although  the  construction  may  be  somewhat  less  obvi- 
ous. The  words  are  in  the  ablative  absolute,  —  "Sleep  covers 
their  eyes,  a  languor  dropping  over  them." 

Verse  64  should  be  printed  "gymnasj,"  not  "gymnasii." 
The  seventy-fifth  and  seventy-sixth  lines  must  be  reversed,  and 
instead  of 

"  Geminas  '  ZJeorum  '  ad  aures  nova  nuncia  referens 
Ibi  juncta  juga  resolvens  Cybele  leonibus 
Laevumque  pecoris  hostem  stimulans," 

read  — 

"Ibi  juncta  juga  resolvens  Cybele  leonibus, 
Geminas  '^orum  '  ad  aur<?/s  nova  nuncia  referens,"  etc. 

CARMEN  LXIV.  "Nuptiae  Pelei  et  Thetidis."  Among  many 
excellencies  of  the  highest  order,  there  are  several  faults  and 
inconsistencies  in  this  heroic  poem.  In  verse  15,  — 

"  Illaque  haudque  alia,"  etc.,  — 

it  is  incredible  that  Catullus  should  have  written  "  haudgue." 
In  verse  3  7  we  read,  — 

"Pharsaliam  coeunt,  Pharsalia  rura  frequentant." 

No  objection  can  be  raised  against  this  reading.  "  Pharsa- 
liam "  is  a  trisyllable.  The  i  sometimes  coalesces  with  another 
vowel,  as  a  and  o  do.  In  Virgil  we  find,  — 


'^  et  lucifugis. 
Aured  composuit  sponda. 
Una  eademque  via. 
Uno  wdemque  igni. 
Perque  aemz  scuta." 


356  THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

Verses  58  and  the  following  are  out  of  their  order.  They 
stand  thus :  — 

"  Rura  colit  nemo  :  mollescunt  colla  juvencis : 
Non  humilis  curvis  purgatur  vinea  rastris: 
Non  glebam  prono  con  veil  it  vomere  taurus  : 
Non  falx  attenuat  frondatorum  arboris  umbram : 
Squalidadesertis  robigo  infertur  aratris." 

The  proper  and  natural  series  is,  together  with  the  right 
punctuation,  — 

"  Rura  colit  nemo  :  mollescunt  colla  juvencis, 
Non  glebam  prono  convellit  vomere  taurus ; 
Squalida  desertis  robigo  infertur  aratris. 
Non  humilis  curvis  purgatur  vinea  rastris, 
Non  falx  attenuat  frondatorum  arboris  umbram,"  — 

because  here  the  first,  the  second,  and  the  third  refer  to  the 
same  labor,  that  of  ploughing ;  the  fourth  and  fifth  to  the  same 
also,  that  of  cultivating  the  two  kinds  of  vineyard.  In  one 
kind  the  grapes  are  cut  low  and  fastened  on  poles  with  bands 
of  withy,  and  raked  between ;  in  the  other  they  are  trained 
against  trees.  Formerly  the  tree  preferred  was  the  elm ;  at 
present  it  is  the  maple,  particularly  in  Tuscany.  The  branches 
are  lopped  and  thinned  when  the  vines  are  pruned,  to  let  in  sun 
and  air.  By  ignorance  of  such  customs  in  agriculture,  many 
things  in  the  Classics  are  mistaken.  Few  people  know  the 
meaning  of  the  words  in  Horace,  — 

"  Cum  duplice  ficu." 

Most  fancy  it  must  be  the  purple  fig  and  the  yellow ;  but  there 
is  also  a  green  one.  The  Italians,  to  dry  their  figs  the  more 
expeditiously,  cut  them  open  and  expose  them  on  the  pave- 
ment before  their  cottages.  They  then  stick  two  together,  and 
this  is  duplex  ficus. 

We  now  come  to  graver  faults  (and  faults  certainly  the 
poet's)  than  a  mere  transposition  of  verses.  In  the  palace 
of  Peleus  there  is  a  piece  of  tapestry  which  takes  up  the  best 
part  of  the  poem. 

"  Haec  vestis  priscis  hominum  variata  figuris  " 

exhibits  the  story  of  Theseus  and  Ariadne.  Their  adventures 
could  not  have  happened  five- and- twenty  years  before  these 


THE   POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  357 

nuptials.  Of  the  Argo,  which  carried  Peleus  when  Thetis  fell 
in  love  with  him,  the  poet  says,  as  others  do,  — 

"  Ilia  rudem  c\irsu#rtma  imbuit  Amphitriten." 

But  in  the  progress  of  sixty  lines  we  find  that  vessels  had  been 
sailing  to  Crete  every  year,  with  the  Athenian  youths  devoted 
to  the  Minotaur.  Castor  and  Pollux  sailed  in  the  Argo  with 
Peleus ;  and  Helen,  we  know,  was  their  sister :  she  was  about 
the  same  age  as  Achilles,  and  Theseus  had  run  away  with  her 
before  Paris  had.  But  equal  inconsistencies  are  to  be  detected 
in  the  ^Eneid,  a  poem  extolled,  century  after  century,  for  pro- 
priety and  exactness.  An  anachronism  quite  as  strange  as  this 
of  Catullus  is  in  the  verses  on  Acragas,  Agrigentum,  — 

"  Arduus  inde  Acragas  ostentat  maxima  longe 
Mcenia,  magnanimum  quondam  generator  equorum. 

Whether  the  city  itself  was  built  in  the  age  of  ^Eneas  is  not  the 
question ;  but  certainly  the  breed  of  horses  was  introduced  by 
the  Carthaginians,  and  improved  by  Hiero  and  Gelon.  The 
breed  of  the  island  is  small,  as  it  is  in  all  mountainous  coun- 
tries, where  the  horses  are  never  found  adapted  to  chariots  any 
more  than  chariots  are  adapted  to  surfaces  so  uneven. 

In  verse  83,  for  "  Funera  Cecropiae,"  etc.,  we  must  read 
"  Pubis  Cecropise." 

In  verse  119,  "  Quae  misera,"  etc.,  is  supposititious. 

In  verse  1 78  we  read,  — 

"  Idomeneos-ne  petam  monies  ?  at  gurgite  lato,"  etc 

Idomeneus  was  unborn  in  the  earlier  days  of  Theseus.  Prob- 
ably the  verses  were  written,  — 

"  Tdam  ideone  petam  ?     Monies  (ah  gurgite  vasto 
Discernens!)  pond  truculentum  dividit  sequor." 

In  verse  191,  nothing  was  ever  grander  or  more  awful  than 
the  adjuration  of  Ariadne  to  the  Eumenides,  — 

"  Quare  facta  virfim  multantes  vindice  pen& 
Eumenides  !  quarum  anguineo  redimita  capillo 
Frons  expirantes  praportat  pectoris  iras, 
Hue,  hue  adventate  !  " 

Verse  199,  Doering  explains, — 

"  Vos  nolite  pati  nostrum  vanescere  luctum," — 


358  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

"  impunitum  manere."     What, — her  grief?     Does  she  pray 
that  her  grief  may  not  remain  unpunished?     No,  she  implores 
that  the  prayers  that  arise  from  it  may  not  be  in  vain. 
In  verse  2 1 2  we  read,  — 

"  Namque  ferunt  olim  [class!  cum  moenia  Divae] 
Linquentem,  natum,  ventis  concrederet  ^geus, 
Talia  complexum  juveni  mandata  dedisse." 

The  mould  of  the  barrel  has  been  doing  sad  mischief  there. 
We  must  read  — 

"  Namque  ferunt,  natum  ventis  quum  crederat  j'Egeus." 
In  verse  250  we  have,  — 

"  At  parte  ex  alia. 

This  scene  is  the  subject  of  a  noble  picture  by  Titian,  now  in 
the  British  Gallery.  It  has  also  been  deeply  studied  by  Nico- 
las Poussin.  But  there  is  a  beauty  which  no  painting  can 
attain  in  — 

"  Plangebant  alii  proceris  tympana  palmis, 
Aut  tereti  tenues  tinnitus  cere  ciebant" 

Soon  follows  that  exquisite  description  of  morning  on  the  sea- 
side, already  transcribed,  and  placed  by  the  side  of  Milton's 
personification. 

In  verse  340  we  read,  — 

"  Nascetur  vobis  expers  terroris  Achilles, 
Hostibus  haud  tergo  sed  forti  pectore  nottis, 
Qui  persaepe  vagi  victor  certamine  cursus 
Flammea  praevertet  celeris  vestigia  cervi." 

It  is  impossible  that  Catullus,  or  any  poet  whatever,  can  have 
written  the  second  of  these.  Some  stupid  critic  must  have 
done  it,  who  fancied  that  the  "  expers  terroris  "  was  not  clearly 
and  sufficiently  proven  by  urging  the  car  over  the  field  of 
battle,  and  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  in  outstripping  the  stag. 

Verse  329.     Rarely  have  the  Fates  sung  so  sweetly  as  in 
this  verse  to  Peleus,  — 

"  Adveniet  tibi  jam  portans  optata  mantis 
Hesperus,  adveniet  fausto  cum  sidere  conjux, 
Quae  tibi  flexanimo  mentem  perfundat  amore 
Languidulosque  paret  tecum  conjungere  somnos, 
Laevia  substernens  robusto  brachia  collo." 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  359 

CARMEN  LXV.  "  Ad  Hortalum."  He  makes  his  excuse  to 
Hortalus  for  delaying  a  compliance  with  his  wishes  for  some 
verses.  This  delay  he  tells  him  was  occasioned  by  the  death 
of  his  brother,  to  whom  he  was  most  affectionately  attached, 
and  whose  loss  he  laments  in  several  of  his  poems.  In  this  he 
breaks  forth  into  a  very  pathetic  appeal  to  him,  — 

"  Alloquar?  audiero  numquam  tua  facta  loquentem  ? 

Nunquam  ego  te,  vita  frater  amabilior, 
Adspiciam  posthac  !     At  certe  semper  amabo, 
Semper  maesta  tua  carmina  morte  canam." 

The  two  following  lines  are  surely  supposititious.  Thinking 
with  such  intense  anguish  of  his  brother's  death,  he  could  find 
no  room  for  so  frigid  a  conceit  as  that  about  the  Daulian  bird 
and  Itylus.  This  is  almost  as  much  out  of  place,  though  not 
so  bad  in  itself,  as  the  distich  which  heads  the  epistle  of 
"  Dido- to  yEneas  "  in  Ovid,  — 

"  Sic,  ubi  Fata  vocant,  udis  abjectus  in  herbis 
Ad  vada  Maeandri  concinit  albus  olor" 

As  if  the  Fates  were  busied  in  "  calling  white  swans  !  "  Ovid 
never  composed  any  such  trash.  The  epistle  in  fact  begins 
with  a  verse  (21)  of  consummate  beauty,  tenderness,  and 
gravity,  — 

"  Quod  miserae  oblitas  molli  sub  veste  locatum, 
Dum  adventu  matris  prosilit,  excutitur." 

These  require  another  punctuation,  — 

"  Quod  miserae  (oblitae  molli  sub  veste  locatum)." 

The  Germans,  to  whom  we  owe  so  much  in  every  branch  of 
learning,  are  not  always  fortunate  in  their  punctuation;  and 
perhaps  never  was  anything  so  subversive  of  harmony  as  that 
which  Heyne  has  given  us  in  a  passage  of  Tibullus,  — 

"  Blanditiis  vult  esse  locum  Venus  ipsa  —  " 

Who  could  ever  doubt  this  fact,  —  that  even  Venus  herself  will 
admit  of  blandishments?  But  Tibullus  laid  down  no  such 
truism.  Heyne  writes  it  thus,  and  proceeds,  — 

"  querelis 
Supplicibus,  miseris  fletibus,  ilia  favet." 


360  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

The  tender  and  harmonious  poet  wrote  not  "  Blandit/is  "  but 
"  Blanditis,  — 

"  Blanditis  vult  esse  locum  Venus  ipsa  querelis  ; 
Supplicibus,  miseris,  flentibus,  ilia  favet." 

Here  the  "  blanditiae  "  are  quite  out  of  the  question  ;  but  the 
"  blanditae  querelae  "  are  complaints  softly  expressed  and  coax- 
ingly  preferred. 

To  return  to  Catullus.     The  following  couplet  is  — 

"  Atque  illud  prono  praeceps  agitur  decursu  ; 
Huic  manat  tristi  conscius  ore  rubor." 

Manat  can  hardly  be  applicable  to  rubor.    We  would  prefer  — 
"  Huic  manet  in  tristi  conscius  ore  rubor,"  — 

the  opposite  to  "  agitur  decursu." 

They  whose  ears  have  been  accustomed  to  the  Ovidian  ele- 
giac verse,  and  have  been  taught  at  school  that  every  pentame- 
ter should  close  with  a  dissyllable,  will  be  apt  to  find  those  of 
Catullus  harsh  and  negligent.  But  let  them  only  read  over, 
twice  or  thrice,  the  first  twelve  verses  of  this  poem,  and  their 
ear  will  be  cured  of  its  infirmity.  By  degrees  they  may  be  led 
to  doubt  whether  the  worst  of  all  Ovid's  conceits  is  not  his  de- 
termination to  give  every  alternate  verse  this  syllabic  uniformity. 

CARMEN  LXVI.  "  De  Coma  Berenices."  This  is  imitated 
from  a  poem  of  Callimachus,  now  lost,  —  perhaps  an  early  ex- 
ercise of  our  poet,  corrected  afterward,  but  insufficiently.  The 
sixth  verse,  however,  is  exquisite  in  its  cadence,  — 

"  Ut  Triviam  furtim  sub  Latmia  saxa  relegans 
Dulcis  amor  gyro  devocat  aerio." 

Verse  27  reads, — 

"  Anne  bonum  oblita  es  facinus,  quo  regium  adepta  es 
Conjugium,  quod  non  fortior  ausit  alis" 

Berenice  is  said  to  have  displayed  great  courage  in  battle.  To 
render  the  second  verse  intelligible,  we  must  admit  "  alis  "  for 
aliusj  as  alid  is  used  for  aliud  in  Lucretius.  Moreover,  we 
must  give  "  fortior  "  the  expression  of  strength,  not  of  courage, 
—  as  forte  throughout  Italy  at  the  present  time  expresses  never 
courage,  always  strength.  The  sense  of  the  passage  then  is, 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  361 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  great  action  by  which  you  won  your 
husband,  —  an  action  which  one  much  stronger  than  yourself 
would  not  have  attempted?"  For  it  would  be  nonsense  to 
say,  "  You  have  performed  a  brave  action  which  a  braver  per- 
son would  not  have  dared."  In  the  sense  of  Catullus  are  those 
passages  of  Sallust  and  Virgil,  — 

"  Neque  a  '  fortissimis  '  infirmissimo  generi  resisti  posse. 
'  Forti '  fidis  equo." 

Verse  65  reads,  — 

"  Virginis,  et  saevi  contingens  namque  Leonis  Lumina.'' 

Namque  may  be  the  true  reading.  The  editor  has  adduced 
two  examples  from  Plautus  to  show  the  probability  of  it,  but 
fails,— 

"  Quando  haec  innata  est  nam  tibi."1 

"  Quid  tibi  ex  filio  nam  aegre  est."2 

He  seems  unaware  that  "  nam,"  in  the  first,  is  only  a  part  of 
quid-nam,  the  quid  being  separated ;  quando-nam,  the  same 
for  ecquando  (ede  quando)  "  tell  me  when,"  quianam,  etc. ; 
but  namque  is  not  in  the  like  condition,  and  in  this  place  it  is 
awkward.  The  nam  added  to  the  above  words  is  always  an 
interrogative. 

CARMEN  LXVII.  "Ad  Januam,"  etc.  In  verse  31  we 
have,  — 

"  Atqui  non  solum  se  dicit  cognitum  habere 

Brixia,  Cycnaeae  supposita  speculae, 
Flavus  quam  molli  percurrit  flumine  Mela, 
Brixia  Veronae  mater  amata  meae." 

Why  should  the  sensible  Marchese  Scipione  Maffei  have  taken 
it  into  his  head  that  the  last  couplet  is  spurious  ?  What  a  beau- 
tiful verse  is  that  in  italics  ! 

CARMEN  LXVIII.  "  Ad  Manlium."  A  rambling  poem  quite 
unworthy  of  the  author.  The  verses  from  the  beginning  of  the 
twenty:sixth  to  the  close  of  the  thirtieth  appertain  to  some 
other  piece,  and  break  the  context.  Doering  has  given  a 
strange  interpretation  to  — 

"  Veronae  turpe  Catullo,"  etc. 
1  Pers.  ii.  5,  13.  2  Bacch.  v.  1,  20. 


362  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

The  true  meaning  is  much  more  obvious  and  much  less  deli- 
cate. In  the  sixty-third  we  must  read  "At"  for  "Ac;"  this 
helps  the  continuity.  After  the  seventy-third  we  must  omit,  as 
belonging  to  another  place,  all  until  we  come  to  verse  143. 
Here  we  catch  the  thread  again.  The  intermediate  lines  be- 
long to  two  other  poems,  both  perhaps  addressed  to  Manlius, 
—  one  relating  to  the  death  of  the  poet's  brother,  the  other 
on  a  very  different  subject :  we  mean  the  fragment  just  now 
indicated  — 

"  Quare  quod  scribis,  Veronae  turpe  Catullo,"  etc. 
Verse  145  reads, — 

"  Sed  furtiva  dedit  mira  munuscula  nocte, 
Ipsius  ex  ipso  demta  viri  gremio." 

The  verses  are  thus  worded  and  punctuated  in  Doering's 
edition  and  others,  but  improperly.  " Mird  nocte"  is  non- 
sense. We  must  read  the  lines  thus  :  — 

"  Sed  furtiva  dedit  mirt  munuscula  nocte 

Ipsius  ex  ipso,"  etc. 
Or  thus,  — 

"  Sed  furtiva  dedit  medid  munuscula  nocte 
Ipsius  ex  ipso  demta  viri  gremio." 

Verse  147,  which  reads, — 

"  Quare  illud  satis  est,  si  nobis  is  datur  unus, 
Quern  lapide  ilia  diem  candidiore  notat,"  — 

Doering  thus  interprets  :  — 

"  Quare  jam  illud  mihi  satis  est,  si  ilia  vel  tmum  diem,  quern  mecnm 
vixit,  ut  diem  faustum  felicemque  albo  lapide  insigniat." 

That  the  verses  have  no  such  meaning  is  evident  from  the 
preceding,  — 

"  Quas  tamen  etsi  uno  non  est  contenta  Catullo 
Kara  verecundae  furta  feremus  herae." 

This  abolishes  the  idea  of  one  single  day  contenting  him,  con- 
tented as  he  professes  himself  to  be  with  little  aberrations  and 
infidelities.  Scaliger  has  it,  — 

"  Quare  illud  satis  est,  si  nobis  id  datur  urn's; 
Quod  lapide  51!a  dies  candidiore  notat." 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  363 

And  it  appears  to  us  that  Scaliger  has  given  the  first  line  cor- 
rectly ;  but  not  the  punctuation.     We  should  prefer,  — 

"  Quare  illud  satis  est,  si  nobis  id  datur  unis 
lapide  ilia  diew  candidiore  not?t." 


Verses  69  and  70  read,  — 

"  Trito  fulgentem  in  limine  plantam 
Innisa  arguta  constitit  in  soled." 

The  slipper  could  not  be  arguta  while  she  was  standing  in  it. 
Scaliger  reads  "  constitz///  solea."  The  one  is  not  sense  j  the 
other  is  neither  sense  nor  Latin,  unless  the  construction  is  con- 
stituit  plantam,  and  then  all  the  other  words  are  in  disarray. 
The  meaning  is,  "  She  placed  her  foot  against  the  door,  and, 
without  speaking,  rapped  it  with  her  sounding  slipper."  Then 
the  words  would  be  "  arguta  conticuit  solea." 
In  verse  78  we  have,  — 

"Nil  mihi  tam  valde  piaceat,  Rhamnusia  virgo, 
invitis  suscipiatur  heris." 


In  Scaliger  it  is,  — 

"  Quam  temere,"  etc. 

The  true  reading  is  neither,  but  — 

"  Quam  ut  temere." 
Such  elisions  are  found  in  this  very  poem  and  the  preceding,  — 

"  Ne  amplius  a  misero,"  — 
and  — 

"  Qui  ipse  sui  gnati." 

CARMEN  LXXI.  "  Ad  Virronem."  Doering  thinks,  as  others 
have  done,  that  the  poem  is  against  Virro.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  a  facetious  consolation  to  him  on  the  punishment  of  his  rival. 

"  Mirifice  est  a  te  nactus  utrumque  malum  " 

means  only  "  for  his  offence  against  you."      We  have  a  little 
more  to  add  on  this  in  CXV. 

CARMEN  LXXV.  "  Ad  Lesbiam."  Here  are  eight  verses, 
the  rhythm  of  which  plunges  from  the  ear  into  the  heart.  Our 
attempt  to  render  them  in  English  is  feeble  and  vain,  — 

1  "  Quo  "  for  "  quod." 


364  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

"  None  could  ever  say  that  she, 
Lesbia,  was  so  loved  by  me. 
Never  all  the  world  around 
Faith  so  true  as  mine  was  found : 
If  no  longer  it  endures 
(Would  it  did !)  the  fault  is  yours. 
I  can  never  think  again 
Well  of  you :  I  try  in  vain. 
But  —  be  false  —  do  what  you  will  — 
Lesbia,  I  must  love  you  still." 

CARMEN  LXXVI.  "Ad  seipsum."  They  whose  ears  retain 
only  the  sound  of  the  hexameters  and  pentameters  they  recited 
and  wrote  at  school,  are  very  unlikely  to  be  greatly  pleased 
with  the  versification  of  this  poem.  Yet  perhaps  one  of  equal 
earnestness  and  energy  was  never  written  in  elegiac  metre. 
Sentences  must  be  read  at  once,  and  not  merely  distichs ;  then 
a  fresh  harmony  will  spring  up  exuberantly  in  every  part  of  it, 
into  which  many  discordant  verses  will  sink  and  lose  themselves, 
to  produce  a  part  of  the  effect.  It  is,  however,  difficult  to  re- 
strain a  smile  at  such  expressions  as  these  from  such  a  man,  — 

"  Si  vitam  puriter  egi, 
O  Dii !  reddite  mi  hoc  pro  pietate  mea  !  " 

CARMEN  LXXXV.     "  De  Amore  suo." 

"  Odi  et  amo.     Quare  idfaciam,fortasse  requiris : 
Nescio,  sed  fieri  sentio  et  excrucior." 

The  words  in  italics  -are  flat  and  prosaic  ;  the  thought  is  beauti- 
ful, and  similar  to  that  expressed  in  LXXV. 

"  I  love  and  hate.     Ah !  never  ask  why  so ! 
I  hate  and  love  —  and  that  is  all  I  know. 
I  see  't  is  folly,  but  I  feel 't  is  woe." 

CARMEN  XCII.  "  De  Lesbia."   The  fourth  verse  is  printed  — 

"  Quo  signo  ?  quasi  non  totidem  mox  deprecor  illi 
Assidue" 

"  Mox  "  and  "  assidue  "  cannot  stand  together.     Jacobs  has 
given  a  good  emendation,  — 

"  Quasi  non  totidem  mala  deprec^r  illi,"  etc. 

CARMEN  XCIII.  "In  Csesarem."  Nothing  can  be  imagined 
more  contemptuous  than  the  indifference  he  here  affects  toward 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  365 

a  name  destined  in  all  after  ages  to  be  the  principal  jewel  in 
the  highest  crowns ;  and  thinking  of  Caesar's  genius,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  without  derision  the  greatest  of  those  who  assume 
it.  Catullus  must  have  often  seen,  and  we  have  reason  to  be- 
lieve he  personally  knew,  the  conqueror  of  Gaul  when  he  wrote 
this  epigram,  — 

"  I  care  not,  Caesar,  what  you  are, 
Nor  know  if  you  be  brown  or  fair." 

CARMEN  XCV.  "  De  Smyrna  Cinnae  Poetae."  There  is 
nothing  of  this  poem,  in  which  Cinna's  "  Smyrna  "  is  extolled, 
worth  notice,  excepting  the  last  line ;  and  that  indeed  not  for 
what  we  read  in  it,  but  for  what  we  have  lost,  — 

"  Parva  mei  mihi  sunt  cordi  monumenta  .  .  ." 

The  word  "  monwmenta  "  is  spelled  improperly  ;  it  is  "  mom- 
menta."  The  last  word  in  the  verse  is  wanting ;  yet  we  have 
seen  quoted,  and  prefixed  to  volumes  of  poetry,  — 

"  Parva  mei  mihi  sunt  cordi  monumenta  laboris." 

But  Catullus  is  not  speaking  of  himself,   he   is   speaking   of 
Cinna  ;  and  the  proper  word  comes  spontaneously,  "  sodalis." 
CARMEN  XCIX.   "  Ad  Juventium." 

"  Multis  diluta  labella 
Guttis  abstersisti  omnibus  articulis" 

How  few  will  this  verse  please  !  but  how  greatly  those  few  ! 

CARMEN  CI.  "  Inferiae  ad  Fratris  Tumulum."  In  these 
verses  there  is  a  sorrowful  but  a  quiet  solemnity,  which  we 
rarely  find  in  poets  on  similar  occasions.  The  grave  and  firm 
voice  which  has  uttered  the  third,  breaks  down  in  the 
fourth,  — 

"  Multas  per  gentes  et  multa  per  aequora  vectus 

Adveni  has  miseras,  frater,  ad  inferias, 
Ut  te  postremo  donarem  munere  mortis 
Et  mutum  nequidquam  alloquerer  cinerem" 

Unusual  as  is  the  cadence,  the  caesura,  who  would  wish  it  other 
than  it  is?  If  there  were  authority  for  it,  we  would  read,  in 
the  sixth,  instead  of — 

"  Heu  miser  indigne  frater  ademte  mihi  "  — 


366  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

"  Heii  nimis  ;  "  because  just  above  we  have,  — 
"  Adveni  has  miseras,  frater,  ad  inferias." 

CARMEN  CX.  "  Ad  Aufilenam."  Doering  says,  "  Utrum 
poetae  an  scribarum  socordice  tribuenda  sit,  qua  ultimi  hujus  car- 
minis  versus  laborant,  obscuritas,  pro  suo  quisque  statuat  arbi- 
trio.  Tolli  quidem  potest  haec  obscuritas,  sed  emendandi  genere 
liberrimo"  We  are  not  quite  so  sure  of  that ;  we  are  only 
sure  that  we  find  no  obscurity  at  all  in  them.  The  word 
factum  is  understood,  and  would  be  inelegant  if  it  could  have 
found  for  itself  a  place  in  the  verse. 

CARMEN  CXV.  It  is  requisite  to  transcribe  the  verses  here 
to  show  that  Doering  is  mistaken  in  two  places;  he  was  at 
LXXI.  in  one  only,  — 

"  Prata  arva,  ingentes  sylvas  saltusque  paludesque 

Usque  ad  Hyperboreos  et  mare  ad  Oceanum. 
Omnia  magna  haec  sunt,  tamen  ipse  est  maximus  ultor" 

He  quotes  LXXL,  forgetting  that  that  poem  is  addressed  to 
Virro,  and  this  to  Mamurra,  under  his  old  nickname  :  Mamurra, 
whatever  else  he  might  be,  was  no  maximus  ultor  here.  The 
context  will  show  what  the  word  should  be.  Mamurra,  by  his 
own  account,  is  possessor  of  meadow  ground  and  arable  ground, 
of  woods,  forests,  and  marshes,  from  the  Hyperboreans  to  the 
Atlantic.  "  These  are  great  things,"  says  Catullus,  "  but  he 
himself  is  great  beyond  them  all"  —  "  ipse  est  maximus,  ultra ;  " 
sc.  "  Hyperboreas  et  Oceanum." 

In  how  different  a  style,  how  artificially,  with  what  infinite 
fuss  and  fury,  has  Horace  addressed  Virgil  on  the  death  of 
Quintilius  Varus  !  Melpomene  is  called  from  a  distance,  and 
several  more  persons  equally  shadowy  are  brought  forward ; 
and  then  Virgil  is  honestly  told  that  if  he  could  sing  and  play 
more  blandly  than  the  Thracian  Orpheus,  he  never  could  reani- 
mate an  empty  image  which  Mercury  had  drawn  off  among  his 
"  black  flock." 

In  selecting  a  poet  for  examination,  it  is  usual  either  to  extol 
him  to  the  skies,  or  to  tear  him  to  pieces  and  trample  on  him. 
Editors  in  general  do  the  former,  —  critics  on  editors,  more 
usually  the  latter.  But  one  poet  is  not  to  be  raised  by  casting 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  367 

another  under  him.  Catullus  is  made  no  richer  by  an  attempt 
to  transfer  to  him  what  belongs  to  Horace,  nor  Horace  by  what 
belongs  to  Catullus.  Catullus  has  greatly  more  than  he ;  but 
he  also  has  much,  —  and  let  him  keep  it.  We  are  not  at  lib- 
erty to  indulge  in  forwardness  and  caprice,  snatching  a  deco- 
ration from  one  and  tossing  it  over  to  another.  We  will  now 
sum  up  what  we  have  collected  from  the  mass  of  materials 
which  has  been  brought  before  us,  laying  down  some  general 
rules  and  observations. 

There  are  four  things  requisite  to  constitute  might,  majesty, 
and  dominion  in  a  poet :  these  are  creativeness,  constructive- 
ness,  the  sublime,  the  pathetic.  A  poet  of  the  first  order  must 
have  formed,  or  taken  to  himself  and  modified,  some  great 
subject.  He  must  be  creative  and  constructive.  Creativeness 
may  work  upon  old  materials  :  a  new  world  may  spring  from 
an  old  one.  Shakspeare  found  Hamlet  and  Ophelia  ;  he  found 
Othello  and  Desdemona,  —  nevertheless  he,  the  only  universal 
poet,  carried  this  and  all  the  other  qualifications  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  competitors.  He  was  creative  and  constructive, 
he  was  sublime  and  pathetic,  and  he  has  also  in  his  humanity 
condescended  to  the  familiar  and  the  comic.  There  is  nothing 
less  pleasant  than  the  smile  of  Milton  ;  but  at  one  time  Momus, 
at  another  the  Graces,  hang  upon  the  neck  of  Shakspeare. 
Poets  whose  subjects  do  not  restrict  them,  and  whose  ordinary 
gait  displays  no  indication  of  either  greave  or  buskin,  if  they 
want  the  facetious  and  humorous,  and  are  not  creative  nor  sub- 
lime nor  pathetic,  must  be  ranked  by  sound  judges  in  the  sec- 
ondary order  and  not  among  the  foremost  even  there. 

Cowper  and  Byron  and  Southey,  with  much  and  deep  ten- 
derness, are  richly  humorous.  Wordsworth,  grave,  elevated, 
observant,  and  philosophical,  is  equi-distant  from  humor  and 
from  passion.  Always  contemplative,  never  creative,  he  delights 
the  sedentary  and  tranquillizes  the  excited.  No  tear  ever  fell, 
no  smile  ever  glanced  on  his  pages.  With  him  you  are  beyond 
the  danger  of  any  turbulent  emotion  at  terror,  or  valor,  or  mag- 
nanimity, or  generosity.  Nothing  is  there  about  him  like 
Burns's  "Scots  wha  ha'e  wi'  Wallace  bled,"  or  Campbell's 
"  Battles  of  Copenhagen  and  Hohenlinden,"  or  those  exquisite 
works  which  in  Hemans  rise  up  like  golden  spires  among 
broader  but  lower  structures,  —  "  Ivan  "  and  "  Casabianca." 


368  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

Byron,  often  impressive  and  powerful,  never  reaches  the  heroic 
and  the  pathetic  of  these  two  poems ;  and  he  wants  the  fresh- 
ness and  healthiness  we  admire  in  Burns.  But  an  indomitable 
fire  of  poetry,  the  more  vivid  for  the  gloom  about  it,  bursts 
through  the  crusts  and  crevices  of  an  unsound  and  hollow  mind. 
He  never  chatters  with  chilliness,  nor  falls  overstrained  into 
languor ;  nor  do  metaphysics  ever  muddy  his  impetuous  and 
precipitate  stream.  It  spreads  its  ravages  in  some  places,  but 
it  is  limpid  and  sparkling  everywhere.  If  no  story  is  well  told 
by  him,  no  character  well  delineated,  —  if  all  resemble  one  an- 
other by  their  beards  and  Turkish  dresses,  there  is  however  the 
first  and  the  second  and  the  third  requisite  of  eloquence, 
whether  in  prose  or  poetry,  —  vigor.  But  no  large  poem  of 
our  days  is  so  animated,  or  so  truly  of  the  heroic  cast  as  "  Mar- 
mion."  Southey's  "  Roderick  "  has  less  nerve  and  animation  ; 
but  what  other  living  poet  has  attempted,  or  shown  the  ability, 
to  erect  a  structure  so  symmetrical  and  so  stately  ?  It  is  not 
enough  to  heap  description  on  description,  to  cast  reflection 
over  reflection  ;  there  must  be  development  of  character  in  the 
development  of  story;  there  must  be  action,  there  must  be 
passion ;  the  end  and  the  means  must  alike  be  great. 

The  poet  whom  we  mentioned  last  is  more  studious  of  clas- 
sical models  than  the  others,  especially  in  his  "  Inscriptions." 
Interest  is  always  excited  by  him,  enthusiasm  not  always.  If 
his  elegant  prose  and  harmonious  verse  are  insufficient  to  ex- 
cite it,  turn  to  his  virtues,  to  his  manliness  in  defence  of  truth, 
to  the  ardor  and  constancy  of  his  friendships,  to  his  disinter- 
estedness, to  his  generosity,  to  his  rejection  of  title  and  office, 
and  consequently  of  wealth  and  influence.  He  has  labored  to 
raise  up  merit  in  whatever  path  of  literature  he  found  it ;  and 
poetry  in  particular  has  never  had  so  intelligent,  so  impartial, 
and  so  merciful  a  judge.  Alas  !  it  is  the  will  of  God  to  de- 
prive him  of  those  faculties  which  he  exercised  with  such  dis- 
cretion, such  meekness,  and  such  humanity ! 
~~We  digress,  —  not  too  far,  but  too  long ;  we  must  return  to 
the  ancients,  and  more  especially  to  the  author  whose  volume 
lies  open  before  us. 

There  is  little  of  the  creative,  little  of  the  constructive,  in 
him ;  that  is,  he  has  conceived  no  new  varieties  of  character, 
he  has  built  up  no  edifice  in  the  intellectual  world,  —  but  he 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  369 

always  is  shrewd  and  brilliant ;  he  often  is  pathetic  ;  and  he 
sometimes  is  sublime.  Without  the  sublime,  we  have  said  be- 
fore, there  can  be  no  poet  of  the  first  orderj  but  the  pathetic 
may  exist  in  the  secondary,  for  tears  are  more  easily  drawn 
forth  than  souls  are  raised  :  so  easily  are  they  on  some  occa- 
sions, that  the  poetical  power  needs  scarcely  to  be  brought 
into  action ;  while  on  others  the  pathetic  is  the  very  summit  of 
sublimity.  We  have  an  example  of  it  in  the  Ariadne  of  Catul- 
lus ;  we  have  another  in  the  Priam  of  Homer.  All  the  heroes 
and  gods,  debating  and  fighting,  vanish  before  the  father  of 
Hector  in  the  tent  of  Achilles,  and  before  the  storm  of  con- 
flicting passions  his  sorrows  and  prayers  excite.  But  neither 
in  the  spirited  and  energetic  Catullus,  nor  in  the  masculine  and 
scornful  and  stern  Lucretius,  —  no,  nor  in  Homer,  —  is  there 
anything  so  impassioned,  and  therefore  so  sublime,  as  the  last 
hour  of  Dido  in  the  yEneid.  Admirably  as  two  Greek  poets 
have  represented  the  tenderness,  the  anguish,  the  terrific  wrath 
and  vengeance  of  Medea,  all  the  works  they  ever  wrote  contain 
not  the  poetry  which  Virgil  has  condensed  into  about  a  hundred 
verses,  —  omitting,  as  we  must,  those  which  drop  like  icicles 
from  the  rigid  lips  of  ^Eneas ;  and  also  the  similes  which,  here 
as  everywhere,  sadly  interfere  with  passion.  In  this  place  Virgil 
fought  his  battle  of  Actium,  which  left  him  poetical  supremacy 
in  the  Roman  world,  whatever  mutinies  and  conspiracies  may 
have  arisen  against  him  in  Germany  or  elsewhere. 

The  Ariadne  of  Catullus  has  greatly  the  advantage  over  the 
Medea  of  Apollonius,  for  what  man  is  much  interested  by 
such  a  termagant?  We  have  no  sympathies  with  a  woman 
whose  potency  is  superhuman.  In  general,  it  may  be  appre- 
hended, we  like  women  little  the  better  for  excelling  us  even 
moderately  in  our  own  acquirements  and  capacities  ;  but  what 
energy  springs  from  her  weaknesses  !  what  poetry  is  the  fruit 
of  her  passions,  once  perhaps  in  a  thousand  years  bursting 
forth  with  imperishable  splendor  on  its  golden  bough  !  If 
there  are  fine  things  in  the  Argonautics  of  Apollonius,  there 
are  finer  still  in  those  of  Catullus.  In  relation  to  Virgil,  he 
stands  as  Correggio  in  relation  to  Raphael,  —  a  richer  colorist, 
a  less  accurate  draftsman,  less  capable  of  executing  grand  de- 
signs, more  exquisite  in  the  working  out  of  smaller.  Virgil  is 
depreciated  by  the  arrogance  of  self-sufficient  poets,  nurtured 


3/O  THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS. 

on  coarse  fare,  and  dizzy  with  home-brewed  flattery.  Others., 
who  have  studied  more  attentively  the  ancient  models,  are 
abler  to  show  his  relative  station,  and  readier  to  venerate  his 
powers.  Although  we  find  him  incapable  of  contriving  and 
more  incapable  of  executing  so  magnificent  a  work  as  the  Iliad, 
yet  there  are  places  in  his  compared  with  which  the  grandest 
in  that  grand  poem  lose  much  of  their  elevation.  Never  was 
there  such  a  whirlwind  of  passions  as  Virgil  raised  on  those 
African  shores,  amid  those  rising  citadels  and  departing  sails. 
When  the  vigorous  verses  of  Lucretius  are  extolled,  no  true 
poet,  no  sane  critic,  will  assert  that  the  seven  or  eight  exam- 
ples of  the  best  are  equivalent  to  this  one  :  even  in  force  of 
expression,  here  he  falls  short  of  Virgil. 

When  we  drink  a  large  draught  of  refreshing  beverage,  it  is 
only  a  small  portion  that  affects  the  palate.  In  reading  the 
best  poetry,  moved  and  excited  as  we  may  be,  we  can  take  in 
no  more  than  a  part  of  it ;  passages  of  equal  beauty  are  unable 
to  raise  enthusiasm.  Let  a  work  in  poetry  or  prose  indicating 
the  highest  power  of  genius  be  discoursed  on,  probably  no  two 
persons  in  a  large  company  will  recite  the  same  portion  as 
having  struck  them  the  most  forcibly ;  but  when  several  pas- 
sages are  pointed  out  and  read  emphatically,  each  listener  will 
to  a  certain  extent  doubt  a  little  his  own  judgment  in  this  one 
particular,  and  hate  you  heartily  for  shaking  it.  (Poets  ought 
never  to  be  vexed,  discomposed,  or  disappointed,  when  the 
better  is  overlooked  and  the  inferior  is  commended  :  much 
may  be  assigned  to  the  observer's  point  of  vision  being  more 
on  a  level  with  the  object;?  (And  this  reflection  also  will  con- 
sole the  artist,  when  really  bad  ones  are  called  more  simple  and 
natural,  while  in  fact  they  are  only  more  ordinary  and  common. 
In  a  palace  we  must  look  to  the  elevation  and  proportions, 
whereas  a  low  grotto  may  assume  any  form  and  almost  any  de- 
formity. ,  Rudeness  is  here  no  blemish  ;  a  shell  reversed  is  no 
false  ornament ;  moss  and  fern  may  be  stuck  with  the  root  out- 
ward ;  a  crystal  may  sparkle  at  the  top  or  at  the  bottom ;  dry 
sticks  and  fragmentary  petrifactions  find  everywhere  their  proper 
place,  and  loose  soil  and  plashy  water  show  just  what  Nature 
delights  in.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  who  at  first  were  about  to 
turn  back,  take  one  another  by  the  hand,  duck  their  heads, 
enter  it  together,  and  exclaim,  "  What  a  charming  grotto  !  " 


THE    POEMS    OF    CATULLUS.  371 

In  poetry,  as  in  architecture,   the  Rustic  Order  is  proper  ) 
only  for  the  lower  story. 

They  who  have  listened,  patiently  and  supinely,  to  the  ca- 
tarrhal  songsters  of  goose-grazed  commons,  will  be  loath  and 
ill-fitted  to  mount  up  with  Catullus  to  the  highest  steeps  in  the 
forests  of  Ida,  and  will  shudder  at  the  music  of  the  Corybantes 
in  the  temple  of  the  Great  Mother  of  the  Gods. 


FRANCESCO   PETRARCA. 

SCARCELY  on  any  author,  of  whatever  age  or  country,  has 
there  so  much  been  written,  spoken,  and  thought,  by  both 
sexes,  as  on  the  subject  of  this  criticism,  —  Petrarca. 

The  compilation  by  Mr.  Campbell  is  chiefly  drawn  together 
from  the  French.  It  contains  no  criticism  on  the  poetry  of  his 
author,  beyond  a  hasty  remark  or  two  in  places  which  least 
require  it.  He  might  have  read  Sismondi  and  Ginguene"  more 
profitably.  The  author  of  the  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature 
of  Europe  "  had  already  done  so ;  but  neither  has  he  thrown 
any  fresh  light  on  the  character  or  the  writings  of  Petrarca,  or, 
in  addition  to  what  had  already  been  performed  by  those  two 
judicious  men,  furnished  us  with  a  remark  in  any  way  worth 
notice.  The  readers  of  Italian,  if  they  are  suspicious,  may 
even  suspect  that  Mr.  Campbell  knows  not  very  much  of  the 
language.  Among  the  many  apparent  causes  for  this  suspicion, 
we  shall  notice  only  two.  Instead  of  "  Friuli,"  he  writes  the 
French  word  "  Frioul ;  "  and  instead  of  the  "  Marca  di  Ancona," 
the  "Marshes."  In  Italian,  a  marsh  is  palude  or  padule ; 
whereas  marca  is  the  origin  of  marchese,  —  the  one  a  confine  ; 
the  other  a  defender  of  a  confine,  or  lord  of  such  a  territory. 

Whoever  is  desirous  of  knowing  all  about  Petrarca,  will 
consult  Muratori  and  De  Sade ;  whoever  has  been  waiting  for 
a  compendious  and  sound  judgment  on  his  works  at  large,  will 
listen  attentively  to  Ginguene ;  whoever  can  be  gratified  by  a 
rapid  glance  at  his  works  and  character,  will  be  directed  by  the 
clear-sighted  follower  of  truth,  Sismondi ;  and  whoever  reads 
only  English,  and  is  contented  to  fare  on  a  small  portion  of 
recocted  criticism  in  a  long  excursion,  may  be  accommodated 
by  Mrs.  Dobson,  Mr.  Hallam,  and  Mr.  Campbell. 

It  may  seem  fastidious  and  affected  to  write,  as  I  have  done, 
his  Italian  name  in  preference  to  his  English  one ;  but  I  think 
it  better  to  call  him  as  he  called  himself,  as  Laura  called  him, 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  373 

as  he  was  called  by  Colonna  and  Rienzi  and  Baccaccio,  and  in 
short  by  all  Italy,  for  I  pretend  to  no  vernacular  familiarity 
with  a  person  of  his  distinction,  and  should  almost  be  as  ready 
to  abbreviate  Francesco  into  Frank,  as  Petrarca  into  Petrarch. 
Besides,  the  one  appellation  is  euphonious,  the  other  quite  the 
reverse. 

We  Englishmen  take  strange  liberties  with  Italian  names. 
Perhaps  the  human  voice  can  articulate  no  sweeter  series  of 
sounds  than  the  syllables  which  constitute  Livorno ;  certainly 
the  same  remark  is  inapplicable  to  Leghorn.  However,  we  are 
not  liable  to  censure  for  this  depravation ;  it  originated  with 
the  Genoese,  the  ancient  masters  of  the  town,  whose  language 
is  extremely  barbarous,  not  unlike  the  Provencal  of  the  Trou- 
badours. With  them  the  letter  g,  pronounced  hard,  as  it  al- 
ways was  among  the  Greeks  and.  Romans,  is  common  for  v : 
thus  lagoro  for  lavoro. 

I  hope  to  be  pardoned  my  short  excursion,  which  was  only 
made  to  bring  my  fellow- laborers  home  from  afield.  At  last 
we  are  beginning  to  call  people  and  things  by  their  right 
names.  We  pay  a  little  more  respect  to  Cicero  than  we  did 
formerly,  calling  him  no  longer  by  the  appellation  of  Tully ;  we 
never  say  Laurence,  or  Lai  de  Medici,  but  Lorenzo.  On  the 
same  principle,  I  beg  permission  to  say  Petrarca  and  Boc- 
caccio, instead  of  Petrarch  and  Boccace.  These  errors  were 
fallen  into  by  following  French  translations ;  and  we  stopped 
and  recovered  our  footing  only  when  we  came  to  Tite-live  and 
A u 'luge 'lie ;  it  was  then  indeed  high  time  to  rest  and  wipe  our 
foreheads.  Yet  we  cannot  shake  off  the  illusion  that  Horace 
was  one  of  us  at  school,  and  we  continue  the  friendly  nick- 
name, although  with  a  whimsical  inconsistency  we  continue  to 
talk  of  the  Horatii  and  Curiatii.  Ovid,  our  earlier  friend, 
sticks  by  us  still.  The  ear  informs  us  that  Virgil  and  Pindar 
and  Homer  and  Hesiod  suffer  no  worse  by  defalcation  than 
fruit-trees  do ;  the  sounds  indeed  are  more  euphonious  than 
what  fell  from  the  native  tongue.  The  great  historians,  the 
great  orators,  and  the  great  tragedians  of  Greece  have  escaped 
unmutilated ;  and  among  the  Romans  it  has  been  the  good 
fortune,  at  least  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  of  Paterculus, 
Quintus  Curtius,  Tacitus,  Catullus,  Propertius,  and  Tibullus  to 
remain  intact  by  the  hand  of  onomaclasts.  Spellings,  whether 


374  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

of  names  or  things,  should  never  be  meddled  with,  save  where 
the  ignorant  have  superseded  the  learned,  or  where  analogy 
has  been  overlooked  by  these.  The  courtiers  of  Charles  II. 
chalked  and  charcoaled  the  orthography  of  Milton.  It  was 
thought  a  scandal  to  have  been  educated  in  England,  and  a 
worse  to  write  as  a  republican  had  written.  We  were  the  sub- 
jects of  the  French  king,  and  we  borrowed  at  a  ruinous  rate 
from  French  authors,  but  not  from  the  best.  Eloquence  was 
extinct,  a  gulf  of  ignominy  divided  us  from  the  genius  of  Italy, 
the  great  master  of  the  triple  world  was  undiscovered  by  us, 
and  the  loves  of  Petrarca  were  too  pure  and  elevated  for  the 
sojourners  of  Versailles. 

Francesco  Petrarca,  if  far  from  the  greatest,  yet  certainly  the 
most  celebrated  of  poets,  was  born  in  the  night  between  the 
nineteenth  and  twentieth  day  of  July,  1304.  His  father's 
name  was  Petracco ;  his  mother's,  Eletta  Canigiani.  Petracco 
left  Florence  under  the  same  sentence  of  banishment  as  his 
friend  Dante  Alighieri,  and  joined  with  him  and  the  other 
exiles  of  the  Bianchi  army  in  the  unsuccessful  attack  on  that 
city  the  very  night  when,  on  his  return  to  Arezzo,  he  found  a 
son  born  to  him  :  it  was  his  first.  To  this  son,  afterward  so 
illustrious,  was  given  the  name  of  Francesco  di  Petracco.  In 
after  life  the  sound  had  something  in  it  which  he  thought 
ignoble;  and  he  converted  it  into  Petrarca.  The  wise  and 
virtuous  Gravina,  patron  of  one  who  has  written  much  good 
poetry,  and  less  of  bad  than  Petrarca,  changed  in  like  manner 
the  name  of  Trapasso  to  Metastasio.  I  cannot  agree  with  him 
that  the  sound  of  the  Hellenized  name  is  more  harmonious,  — 
the  reduplication  of  the  syllable  fas  is  painful ;  but  I  do  agree 
with  Petrarca,  whose  adopted  form  has  only  one  fault,  which  is, 
that  there  is  no  meaning  in  it. 

When  he  was  seven  months  old  he  was  taken  by  his  mother 
from  Arezzo  to  Incisa,  in  the  Val-d'Arno,  where  the  life  so 
lately  given  was  nearly  lost.  The  infant  was  dropped  into  the 
river,  which  is  always  rapid  in  that  part  of  its  course,  and  was 
then  swollen  by  rain  into  a  torrent.  At  Incisa  he  remained 
with  her  seven  years.  The  father  had  retired  to  Pisa ;  and 
now  his  wife  and  Francesco,  and  another  son  born  after, 
named  Gherardo,  joined  him  there.  In  a  short  time  however 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.        •     3/5 

he  took  them  to  Avignon,  where  he  hoped  for  employment 
under  Pope  Clement  V.  In  that  crowded  city  lodgings  and 
provisions  were  so  dear  that  he  soon  found  it  requisite  to  send 
his  wife  and  children  to  the  small  episcopal  town  of  Carpen- 
tras,  where  he  often  went  to  visit  them.  In  this  place  Fran- 
cesco met  Convenole,  who  had  taught  him  his  letters,  and  who 
now  undertook  to  teach  him  what  he  knew  of  rhetoric  and 
logic.  He  had  attained  his  tenth  year  when  the  father  took 
him  with  a  party  of  friends  to  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse.  Even 
at  that  early  age  his  enthusiasm  was  excited  by  the  beauty  and 
solitude  of  the  scene.  The  waters  then  flowed  freely ;  habita- 
tions there  were  none  but  the  most  rustic,  and  indeed  one 
only  near  the  rivulet.  Such  was  then  Vaucluse ;  and  such  it 
remained  all  his  lifetime,  and  long  after.  The  tender  heart  is 
often  moulded  by  localities.  Perhaps  the  purity  and  singleness 
of  Petrarca's,  his  communion  with  it  on  one  only  altar,  his 
exclusion  of  all  images  but  one,  result  from  this  early  visit  to 
the  gushing  springs,  the  eddying  torrents,  the  insurmountable 
rocks,  the  profound  and  inviolate  solitudes  of  Vaucluse. 

The  time  was  now  come  when  his  father  saw  the  necessity 
of  beginning  to  educate  him  for  a  profession ;  and  he  thought 
the  canon  law  was  likely  to  be  the  most  advantageous.  Con- 
sequently he  was  sent  to  Montpelier,  the  nearest  university, 
where  he  resided  four  years,  —  not  engaged,  as  he  ought  to 
have  been,  among  the  jurisconsults,  but  among  the  Classics. 
Information  of  this  perversity  soon  reached  Petracco,  who  has- 
tened to  the  place,  found  the  noxious  books,  and  threw  them 
into  the  fire ;  but,  affected  by  the  lamentations  of  his  son,  he 
recovered  the  Cicero  and  the  Virgil,  and  restored  them  to  him, 
pirtially  consumed.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  was  sent  from 
Montpelier  to  Bologna,  where  he  found  Cino  da  Pistoja,  to 
whom  he  applied  himself  in  good  earnest,  not  indeed  for  his 
knowledge  as  a  jurisconsult,  in  which  he  had  acquired  the 
highest  reputation,  but  for  his  celebrity  as  a  poet.  After  two 
more  years  he  lost  his  father  ;  and  the  guardians,  it  is  said,  were 
unfaithful  to  their  trust.  Probably  there  was  little  for  them  to 
administer.  He  now  returned  to  Avignon,  where,  after  the 
decease  of  Clement  V.,  John  XXII.  occupied  the  .popedom. 
Here  his  Latin  poetry  soon  raised  him  into  notice,  for  nobody 
in  Avignon  wrote  so  good  ;  but  happily,  both  for  himself  and 


376  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

many  thousand  sensitive  hearts  in  every  age  and  nation,  he 
soon  desired  his  verses  to  be  received  and  understood  by  one 
to  whom  the  Latin  was  unknown. 

"  Benedetto  sia  il  giorno,  e  '1  mese,  e  1'anno  ! 
Blessed  be  the  day,  and  month,  and  year  !  " 

Laura,  daughter  of  Audibert  de  Noves,  was  married  to  Hugh 
de  Sade,  —  persons  of  distinction.  She  was  younger  by  three 
years  than  Petrarca.  They  met  first  on  Good  Friday,  in  the 
convent-church  of  Saint  Claire,  at  six  in  the  morning.  That 
hour  she  inspired  such  a  passion,  by  her  beauty  and  her 
modesty,  as  years  only  tended  to  strengthen,  and  death  to 
sanctify.  The  incense  which  burned  in  the  breast  of  Petrarca 
before  his  Laura  might  have  purified,  one  would  have  thought, 
even  the  court  of  Avignon ;  and  never  was  love  so  ardent 
breathed  into  ear  so  chaste.  The  man  who  excelled  all  others 
in  beauty  of  person,  in  dignity  of  demeanor,  in  genius,  in  ten- 
derness, in  devotion,  was  perhaps  the  only  one  who  failed  in 
attaining  the  object  of  his  desires.  But  cold  as  Laura  was  in 
temperament,  rigid  as  she  was  in  her  sense  of  duty,  she  never 
was  insensible  to  the  merits  of  her  lover.  A  light  of  distant 
hope  often  shone  upon  him  and  tempted  him  onward,  through 
surge  after  surge,  over  the  depths  of  passion.  Laura  loved  ad- 
miration, as  the  most  retired  and  most  diffident  of  women  do ; 
and  the  admiration  of  Petrarca  drew  after  it  the  admiration 
of  the  world.  She  also,  what  not  all  women  do,  looked  for- 
ward to  the  glory  that  awaited  her,  when  those  courtiers  and 
those  crowds  and  that  city  should  be  no  more,  and  when  of  all 
women  the  Madonna  alone  should  be  so  glorified  on  earth. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  for  those  who  delight  in  poetry  that  Laura 
was  inflexible  and  obdurate  ;  for  the  sweetest  song  ceases  when 
the  feathers  have  lined  the  nest.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem, 
Petrarca  was  capable  of  quitting  her :  he  was  capable  of  be- 
lieving that  absence  could  moderate,  or  perhaps  extinguish,  his 
passion.  Generally  the  lover  who  can  think  so  has  almost 
succeeded ;  but  Petrarca  had  contracted  the  habit  of  writing 
poetry,  —  and  now  writing  it  on  Laura,  and  Laura  only,  he 
brought  the  past  and  the  future  into  a  focus  on  his  breast.  All 
magical  powers,  it  is  said,  are  dangerous  to  the  possessor  :  none 
is  more  dangerous  than  the  magic  of  the  poet,  who  can  call  be- 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  377 

fore  him  at  will  the  object  of  his  wishes ;  but  her  countenance 
and  her  words  remain  her  own,  and  are  beyond  his  influence. 

It  is  wonderful  how  extremely  few,  even  of  Italian  scholars 
and  natives  of  Italy,  have  read  his  letters  or  his  poetry  entirely 
through.  I  am  not  speaking  of  his  Latin  ;  for  it  would  indeed 
be  a  greater  marvel  if  the  most  enterprising  industry  succeeded 
there.  The  thunderbolt  of  war —  "  Scipiades  fulmen  belli "  — 
has  always  left  a  barren  place  behind.  No  poet  ever  was  for- 
tunate in  the  description  of  his  exploits  ;  and  the  least  fortunate 
of  the  number  is  Petrarca.  Probably  the  whole  of  the  poem 
contains  no  sentence  or  image  worth  remembering.  I  say 
probably ;  for  whosoever  has  hit  upon  what  he  thought  the 
best  of  it  has  hit  only  upon  what  is  worthless,  or  else  upon 
what  belongs  to  another.  The  few  lines  quoted  and  applauded 
by  Mr.  Campbell  are  taken  partly  from  Virgil's  JEneid,  and 
partly  from  Ovid's  Metamorphoses.  I  cannot  well  believe 
that  any  man  living  has  read  beyond  five  hundred  lines  of 
"Africa;"  I  myself,  in  sundry  expeditions,  have  penetrated 
about  thus  far  into  its  immeasurable  sea  of  sand.  But  the 
wonder  is  that  neither  the  poetry  nor  the  letters  of  Petrarca 
seem  to  have  been,  even  in  his  own  country,  read  thoroughly 
and  attentively ;  for  surely  his  commentators  ought  to  have 
made  themselves  masters  of  these,  before  they  agitated  the 
question,  —  some  whether  Laura  really  existed,  and  others 
whether  she  was  flexible  to  the  ardor  of  her  lover.  Speaking 
of  his  friends,  Socrates  and  Laelius,  of  whose  first  meeting  with 
him  I  shall  presently  make  mention,  he  says,  — 

"  Con  costor  colsi  '1  glorioso  ramo 
Onde  forse  anzi  tempo  ornai  le  temple, 
In  memoria  di  quella  ch'  i'  tant'  amo  : 
Ma  pur  di  lei  che  il  cuor  di  pensier  m'  empie 
Non  potei  coglier  mai  ramo  ne  foglie  ; 
1  Si  fur'  le  sue  radici  acerbe  ed  empie." 

I  cannot  render  these  verses  much  worse  than  they  actu- 
ally are,  with  their  "  tempo  "  and  "  tempie,"  and  their  "  radici 
empie ;  "  so  let  me  venture  to  offer  a  translation  :  — 

"  They  saw  me  win  the  glorious  bough 
That  shades  my  temples  even  now, 
Who  never  bough  nor  leaf  cotild  take 
From  that  severe  one,  for  whose  sake 
So  many  sighs  and  tears  arose  — 
Unbending  root  of  bitter  woes." 


3/8  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

There  is  a  canzone  to  the  same  purport,  to  be  noticed  in 
its  place ;  and  several  of  his  letters  could  also  be  adduced  in 
evidence.  We  may  believe  that  although  he  had  resolved  to 
depart  from  Avignon  for  a  season,  he  felt  his  love  increasing 
at  every  line  he  wrote.  Such  thoughts  and  images  cannot  be 
turned  over  in  the  mind  and  leave  it  perfectly  in  composure. 
Yet  perhaps  when  he  had  completed  the  most  impassioned 
sonnet,  the  surges  of  his  love  may  have  subsided  under  the  oil 
he  had  poured  out  on  his  vanity ;  for  love,  if  it  is  a  weakness, 
was  not  the  only  weakness  of  Petrarca,  and  when  he  had  per- 
formed what  he  knew  was  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  Laura,  he 
looked  abroad  for  the  applause  of  all  around. 

Giacomo  Colonna,  who  had  been  at  the  university  of  Bologna 
with  him,  had  come  to  Avignon  soon  after.  It  was  with  Co- 
lonna he  usually  spent  his  time ;  both  had  alike  enjoyed  the 
pleasures  of  the  city,  until  the  day  when  Francesco  met  Laura. 
To  Giacomo  was  now  given  the  bishopric  of  Lombes,  in  reward 
of  a  memorable  and  admirable  exploit,  among  the  bravest  that 
ever  has  been  performed  in  the  sight  of  Rome  herself.  When 
Lewis  of  Bavaria  went  thither  to  depose  John  XVIII.,  Giacomo 
Colonna,  attended  by  four  men  in  masks,  read  publicly  in  the 
Piazza  di  San  Marcello  the  bull  of  that  emperor's  excommuni- 
cation and  dethronement,  and  challenged  to  single  combat  any 
adversary.  None  appearing,  he  rode  onward  to  the  stronghold 
of  his  family  at  Palestrina,  the  ancient  Preneste.  His  reward 
was  this  little  bishopric.  When  Petrarca  found  him  at  Lombes, 
in  the  house  of  the  bishop  he  found  also  two  persons  of  worth, 
who  became  the  most  intimate  of  his  friends,  —  the  one  a 
Roman,  Lello  by  name,  which  name  the  poet  Latinized  to 
Laelius  ;  the  other  from  the  borders  of  the  Rhine,  whose  ap- 
pellation was  probably  less  tractable,  and  whom  he  called  Soc- 
rates. Toward  the  close  of  autumn  the  whole  party  returned 
to  Avignon. 

In  the  bosom  of  Petrarca  love  burned  again  more  ardently 
than  ever.  It  is  censured  as  the  worst  of  conceits  in  him  that 
he  played  so  often  on  the  name  of  Laura,  and  many  have  sus- 
pected that  there  could  be  little  passion  in  so  much  allusion. 
A  purer  taste  might  indeed  have  corrected  in  the  poetry  the 
outpourings  of  tenderness  on  the  name  ;  but  surely  there  is  a 
true  and  a  pardonable  pleasure  in  cherishing  the  very  sound  of 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  379 

what  we  love.  If  it  belongs  to  the  heart,  as  it  does,  it  belongs 
to  poetry,  and  is  not  easily  to  be  cast  aside.  The  shrub  recall- 
ing the  idea  of  Laura  was  planted  by  his  hand  :  often  that  he 
might  nurture  it  was  the  pen  laid  by ;  the  leaves  were  often 
shaken  by  his  sighs,  and  not  unfrequently  did  they  sparkle  with 
his  tears.  He  felt  the  comfort  of  devotion  as  he  bent  before 
the  image  of  her  name.  But  he  now  saw  little  of  her,  and  was 
never  at  her  house ;  it  was  only  in  small  parties,  chiefly  of  la- 
dies, that  they  met.  She  excelled  them  all  in  grace  of  person 
and  in  elegance  of  attire.  Probably  her  dress  was  not  the 
more  indifferent  to  her  on  her  thinking  whom  she  was  about  to 
meet ;  yet  she  maintained  the  same  reserve,  —  the  nourisher  of 
love,  but  not  of  hope. 

Restless,  forever  restless,  again  went  Petrarca  from  Avignon. 
He  hoped  he  should  excite  a  little  regret  at  his  departure  and 
a  desire  to  see  him  again  soon,  if  not  expressed  to  him  before 
he  left  the  city,  yet  conveyed  by  letters  or  reports.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  Paris,  thence  to  Cologne,  and  was  absent  eight 
months.  On  his  return,  the  bishop,  whom  he  expected  to 
meet,  was  neither  at  Avignon  nor  at  Lombes.  His  courage  and 
conduct  were  required  at  Rome,  to  keep  down  the  rivals  of  his 
family,  the  Orsini.  Disappointed  in  his  visit  and  hopeless  in 
his  passion,  the  traveller  now  retired  to  Vaucluse ;  and  here  he 
poured  in  solitude  from  his  innermost  heart  incessant  strains  of 
love  and  melancholy. 

At  Paris  he  had  met  with  Dionigi  de'  Ruperti,  an  Augustine 
monk,  born  at  Borgo  San  Sepolcro  near  Florence,  and  esteemed 
as  one  of  the  most  learned,  eloquent,  philosophical,  and  reli- 
gious men  in  France.  To  him  Petrarca  wrote  earnestly  for 
counsel ;  but  before  the  answer  came  he  had  seen  Laura.  A 
fever  was  raging  in  the  city,  and  her  life  was  in  danger.  Bene- 
dict XII.,  to  whom  he  addressed  the  least  inelegant  of  his 
Latin  poems  (an  exhortation  to  transfer  the  Roman  See  to 
Rome),  conferred  on  him,  now  in  the  thirtieth  year  of  his  age, 
a  canonry  at  Lombes.  But  the  bishop  was  absent  from  the 
diocese,  and  again  at  Rome.  Thither  hastened  Petrarca,  and 
was  received  at  Capraniccia,  a  castle  of  the  Colonnas,  not  only 
by  his  diocesan,  but  likewise  by  Stefano,  senator  of  Rome,  to 
which  city  they  both  conducted  him.  His  stay  here  was  short ; 
he  returned  to  Avignon,  but  inflamed  with  unquenchable  love, 


380  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

and  seeking  to  refresh  his  bosom  with  early  memories,  he  re- 
tired to  Vaucluse.  Here  he  purchased  a  poor  cottage  and  a 
small  meadow  •  hither  he  transferred  his  books,  and  hither 
also  that  image  which  he  could  nowhere  leave  behind.  Sum- 
mer, autumn,  winter,  he  spent  among  these  solitudes  ;  a  fisher- 
man was  his  only  attendant,  but  occasionally  a  few  intimate 
friends  came  from  Avignon  to  visit  him.  The  bishop  of  Cav- 
aillon,  Philippe  de  Cabassoles,  in  whose  diocese  was  Vaucluse, 
and  who  had  a  villa  not  far  off,  here  formed  with  him  a  lasting 
friendship,  and  was  worthy  of  it.  During  these  months  the 
poet  wrote  the  three  canzoni  on  the  eyes  of  Laura,  which  some 
have  called  the  "  Three  Graces,"  but  which  he  himself  called 
the  "  Three  Sisters."  The  Italians,  the  best-tempered  and  the 
most  polite  of  nations,  look  rather  for  beauties  than  faults,  and 
imagine  them  more  easily.  A  brilliant  thought  blinds  them  to 
improprieties,  and  they  are  incapable  of  resisting  a  strong  ex- 
pression. Enthusiastic  criticism  is  common  in  Italy ;  ingenious 
is  not  deficient,  correct  is  yet  to  come. 

About  this  time  Simone  Memmi  of  Siena,  whom  some  with- 
out any  reason  whatsoever  have  called  a  disciple  of  Giotto, 
was  invited  by  the  Pope  to  Avignon,  where  he  painted  an  apart- 
ment in  the  pontifical  palace,  just  then  completed.  Petrarca 
has  celebrated  him,  not  only  in  two  sonnets,  but  also  in  his 
letters,  in  which  he  says,  "  Duos  ego  novi  pictores  egregios,  — 
Joctium  Florentinum  civem,  cujus  inter  modernos  fama  ingens 
est,  et  Simonem  Senensem." 

Had  so  great  an  artist  been  the  scholar  of  Giotto,  it  would 
have  added  to  the  reputation  of  even  this  illustrious  man,  a 
triumvir  with  Ghiberti  and  Michelangelo.  These,  although 
indeed  not  flourishing  together,  may  be  considered  as  the  first 
triumvirate  in  the  republic  of  the  arts  ;  Raphael,  Correggio,  and 
Titian  the  second.  There  is  no  resemblance  to  Giotto  in  the 
manner  of  Simone,  nor  does  Ghiberti  mention  him  as  the  dis- 
ciple of  the  Florentine.  No  man  knew  better  than  Ghiberti 
how  distinct  are  the  Sanese  and  the  Florentine  schools.  Si- 
mone Memmi,  the  first  of  the  moderns  who  gave  roundness 
and  beauty  to  the  female  face,  neglected  not  the  graceful  air 
of  Laura.  ,  Frequently  did  he  repeat  her  modest  features  in  the 
principal  figure  of  his  sacred  compositions  ;  and  Petrarca  was 
alternately  tortured  and  consoled  by  the  possession  of  her  por- 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  381 

trait  from  the  hand  of  Memmi.     It  was  painted  in  the  year 

1339,  so  that  she  was  thirty-two  years  old  ;  but  whether  at  the 
desire  of  her  lover,  or  guided  by  his  own  discretion,  or  that  in 
reality  she  retained  the  charms  of  youth  after  bearing  eight  or 
nine  children,  she  is  represented  youthful  and  almost  girlish 
whenever  he  introduces  her. 

With  her  picture  now  before  him,  Petrarca  thought  he  could 
reduce  in  number  and  duration  his  visits  to  Avignon,  and  might 
undertake  a  work  sufficient  to  fix  his  attention  and  occupy  his 
retirement.  He  began  to  compose  in  Latin  a  history  of  Rome, 
from  its  foundation  to  the  subversion  of  Jerusalem.  But  almost 
at  the  commencement  the  exploits  of  Scipio  Africanus  seized 
upon  his  enthusiastic  imagination,  and  determined  him  to 
abandon  history  for  poetry.  The  second  Punic  War  was  the 
subject  he  chose  for  an  epic.  Deficient  as  the  work  is  in 
all  the  requisites  of  poetry,  his  friends  applauded  it  beyond 
measure.  And  indeed  no  small  measure  of  commendation  is 
due  to  it ;  for  here  he  had  restored  in  some  degree  the  plan 
and  tone  of  antiquity.  But  to  such  a  pitch  was  his  vanity  ex- 
alted, that  he  aspired  to  higher  honors  than  Virgil  had  received 
under  the  favor  of  Augustus,  and  was  ambitious  of  being 
crowned  in  the  capitol.  His  powerful  patrons  removed  every 
obstacle  ;  and  the  senator  of  Rome  invited  him  by  letter  to  his 
coronation.  A  few  hours  afterward,  on  the  230!  of  August, 

1340,  another  of  the  same  purport  was  delivered  to  him  from 
the  University  of  Paris.     The  good  king  Robert  of  Naples  had 
been  zealous  in  obtaining  for  him  the  honor  he  solicited ;  and 
to  Naples  he  hastened,  ere  he  proceeded  to  Rome. 

It  was  in  later  days  that  kings  began  to  avoid  the  conversa- 
tion and  familiarity  of  learned  men.  Robert  received  Fran- 
cesco as  became  them  both ;  and  on  his  departure  from  the 
court  of  Naples  presented  to  him  the  gorgeous  robe  in  which, 
four  days  afterward,  he  was  crowned  in  the  capitol.  At  the 
close  of  his  life  he  lamented  the  glory  he  had  thus  attained, 
and  repined  at  the  malice  it  drew  down  on  him.  Even  in  the 
hour  of  triumph  he  was  exposed  to  a  specimen  of  the  kind. 
Most  of  those  among  the  ancient  Romans  to  whom  in  their 
triumphal  honors  the  laurel  crown  was  decreed,  were  exposed 
to  invectives  and  reproaches  in  their  ascent ;  fescennine  verses, 
rude  and  limping,  interspersed  with  saucy  trochaics,  were  gen- 


382  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

erally  their  unpalatable  fare.  But  Petrarca,  the  elect  of  a 
senator  and  a  pope,  was  doomed  to  worse  treatment.  Not  on 
his  advance,  but  on  his  return,  an  old  woman  emptied  on  his 
laurelled  head  one  of  those  mysterious  vases  which  are  usually 
in  administration  at  the  solemn  hour  of  night.  Charity  would 
induce  us  to  hope  that  her  venerable  age  was  actuated  by  no 
malignity,  but  there  were  strong  surmises  to  the  contrary ;  nor 
can  I  adduce  in  her  defence  that  she  had  any  poetical  vein,  by 
which  I  might  account  for  this  extraordinary  act  of  inconti- 
nence. Partaking,  as  was  thought  by  the  physicians,  of  the 
old  woman's  nature,  the  contents  of  the  vase  were  so  acrimo- 
nious as  to  occasion  baldness ;  her  caldron,  instead  of  restor- 
ing youth,  drew  down  old  age,  or  fixed  immovably  its  odious 
signal.  A  projectile  scarcely  more  fatal,  in  a  day  also  of 
triumph,  was  hurled  by  a  similar  enemy  on  the  head  of  Pyrrhus. 
The  laurel  decreed  in  full  senate  to  Julius  Caesar,  although  it 
might  conceal  the  calamity  of  baldness,  never  could  have  pre- 
vented it ;  nor  is  it  probable  that  either  his  skill  or  his  fortune 
could  have  warded  off  efficaciously  what  descended  from  such 
a  quarter.  The  Italians,  who  carry  more  good  humor  about 
them  than  any  other  people,  are  likely  to  have  borne  this  catas- 
trophe of  their  poet  with  equanimity,  if  not  hilarity.  Perhaps 
even  the  gentle  Laura,  when  she  heard  of  it,  averted  the  smile 
she  could  not  quite  suppress. 

I  will  not  discuss  the  question,  how  great  or  how  little  was 
the  glory  of  this  coronation,  —  a  glory  which  Homer  and 
Dante,  which  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  never  sought,  and  never 
would  have  attained.  Merit  has  rarely  risen  of  itself,  but  a 
pebble  or  a  twig  is  often  quite  sufficient  for  it  to  spring  from 
to  the  highest  ascent.  There  is  usually  some  baseness  before 
there  is  any  elevation.  After  all,  no  man  can  be  made  greater 
by  another,  although  he  may  be  made  more  conspicuous  by 
title,  dress,  position,  and  acclamation.  The  powerful  can  only 
be  ushers  to  the  truly  great ;  and  in  the  execution  of  this  office 
they  themselves  approach  to  greatness.  But  Petrarca  stood  far 
above  all  the  other  poets  of  his  age ;  and  incompetent  as  were 
his  judges,  it  is  much  to  their  praise  that  they  awarded  due 
honor  to  the  purifier  both  of  language  and  of  morals.  With 
these,  indeed,  to  solicit  the  wife  of  another  may  seem  inconsis- 
tent ;  but  such  was  always  the  custom  of  the  Tuscan  race,  and 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  383 

not  always  with  the  same  chastity  as  was  enforced  by  Laura. 
As  Petrarca  loved  her,  — 

"  Id,  Manli !  non  est  turpe,  magis  miserum  est." 

Love  is  the  purifier  of  the  heart ;  its  depths  are  less  turbid  than 
its  shallows.  In  despite  of  precepts  and  arguments,  the  most 
sedate  and  the  most  religious  of  women  think  charitably,  and 
even  reverentially,  of  the  impassioned  poet.  Constancy  is  the 
antagonist  of  frailty,  exempt  from  the  captivity  and  above  the 
assaults  of  sin. 

There  is  much  resemblance  in  the  character  of  Petrarca  to 
that  of  Abelard.  Both  were  learned,  both  were  disputatious, 
both  were  handsome,  both  were  vain ;  both  ran  incessantly  back- 
ward and  forward  from  celebrity  to  seclusion,  from  seclusion  to 
celebrity;  both  loved  unhappily;  but  the  least  fortunate  was 
the  most  beloved. 

Devoted  as  Petrarca  was  to  the  Classics,  and  prone  as  the 
Italian  poets  are  to  follow  and  imitate  them,  he  stands  apart 
with  Laura ;  and  if  some  of  his  reflections  are  to  be  found  in 
the  sonnets  of  Cino  da  Pistoja,  and  a  few  in  the  more  precious 
reliquary  of  Latin  Elegy,  he  seems  disdainful  of  repeating  in 
her  ear  what  has  ever  been  spoken  in  another's.  Although  a 
cloud  of  pure  incense  rises  up  and  veils  the  intensity  of  his 
love,  it  is  such  love  as  animates  all  creatures  upon  earth,  and 
tends  to  the  same  object  in  all.  Throughout  life  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  hear  of  the  Platonic  :  absurd  as  it  is  everywhere, 
it  is  most  so  here.  Nothing  in  the  voluminous  works  of  Plato 
authorizes  us  to  affix  this  designation  to  simple  friendship,  to 
friendship  exempt  from  passion.  On  the  contrary,  the  philos- 
opher leaves  us  no  doubt  whatever  that  his  notion  of  love  is 
sensual.1  He  says  expressly  what  species  of  it,  and  from  what 

1  A  mysterious  and  indistinct  idea,  not  dissipated  by  the  closest  view 
of  the  original,  led  the  poetical  mind  of  Shelley  into  the  labyrinth  that  en- 
compassed the  garden  of  Academus.  He  has  given  us  an  accurate  and 
graceful  translation  of  the  most  eloquent  of  Plato's  dialogues.  Consist- 
ently with  modesty  he  found  it  impossible  to  present  the  whole  to  his 
readers  ;  but  as  the  subject  is  entirely  on  the  nature  of  love,  they  will  dis- 
cover that  nothing  is  more  unlike  Petrarca's.  The  trifles,  the  quibbles, 
the  unseasonable  jokes  of  what  is  exhibited  in  very  harmonious  Greek, 
and  in  English  nearly  as  harmonious,  pass  uncensured  and  unnoticed  by 
the  fascinated  Shelley.  So  his  gentleness  and  warmth  of  heart  induced 


384  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

bestowers,  should  be  the  reward  of  sages  and  heroes,  —  "  Dii 
meliora  piis  !  " 

Besides  Sonnets  and  Canzoni  Petrarca  wrote  "  Sestine  ;  "  so 
named  because  each  stanza  contains  six  verses,  and  each  poem 
six  stanzas,  to  the  last  of  which  three  lines  are  added.  If  the 
terza-rima  is  disagreeable  to  the  ear,  what  is  the  sestina,  in 
which  there  are  only  six  rhymes  to  thirty-six  verses,  and  all 
these  respond  to  the  same  words  !  Cleverness  in  distortion 
can  proceed  no  further.  Petrarca  wearied  the  popes  by  his 
repeated  solicitations  that  they  would  abandon  Avignon :  he 
never  thought  of  repeating  a  sestina  to  them,  —  it  would  have 
driven  the  most  obtuse  and  obstinate  out  to  sea,  and  he  never 
would  have  removed  his  hands  from  under  the  tiara  until  he 
entered  the  port  of  Civita-Vecchia.  While  our  poet  was  thus 
amusing  his  ingenuity  by  the  most  intolerable  scheme  of  rhym- 
ing that  the  poetry  of  any  language  has  exbibited,  his  friend 
Boccaccio  was  occupied  in  framing  that  very  stanza,  the  ottava- 
rima,  which  so  delights  us  in  Berni,  Ariosto,  and  Tasso.  But 
Tasso  is  most  harmonious  when  he  expatiates  most  freely, 
"numerisque  fertur  lege  solutis,"  —  for  instance,  in  the 
"  Aminta,"  where  he  is  followed  by  Milton  in  his  "  Lycidas." 

We  left  Petrarca  not  engaged  in  these  studies  of  his  retire- 
ment, but  passing  in  triumph  through  the  capital  of  the  world. 
On  his  way  toward  Avignon,  where  he  was  ambitious  of  display- 
ing his  fresh  laurels,  he  stayed  a  short  time  at  Parma  with  Azzo 
da  Correggio,  who  had  taken  possession  of  that  city.  Azzo  was 
among  the  most  unprincipled,  ungrateful,  and  mean  of  the 
numerous  petty  tyrants  who  have  infested  Italy.  Petrarca's 
love  of  liberty  never  quite  outrivalled  his  love  of  princes,  —  for 
which  Boccaccio  mildly  expostulates  with  him,  and  Sismondi, 
as  liberal,  wise,  and  honest  as  Boccaccio,  severely  reprehends 
him.  But  what  other,  loving  as  he  loved,  would  have  urged  in- 
cessantly the  return  to  Italy,  the  abandonment  of  Avignon  ?  At 
times,  beyond  a  doubt,  he  preferred  his  imperfect  hopes  to  the 
complete  restoration  of  Italian  glory ;  but  he  shook  them  like 

him  to  look  with  affection  on  the  poetry  of  Petrarca,  —  poetry  by  how 
many  degrees  inferior  to  his  own !  Nevertheless,  with  justice  and  pro- 
priety he  ranks  Dante  higher  in  the  same  department,  who  indeed  has 
described  love  more  eloquently  than  any  other  poet,  excepting  (who 
always  must  be  excepted)  Shakspeare.  Francesca  and  Beatrice  open  all 
the  heart,  and  fill  it  up  with  tenderness  and  with  pity. 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  385 

dust  from  his  bosom,  and  Laura  was  less  than  Rome.  Shall  we 
refuse  the  name  of  patriot  to  such  a  man  ?  No  !  those  alone 
will  do  it  who  have  little  to  lose  or  leave.  Sismondi,  who  never 
judges  harshly,  never  hastily,  passes  no  such  sentence  on  him. 

So  pleased  was  Petrarca  with  his  residence  at  Parma  that  he 
purchased  a  house  in  the  city,  where  he  completed  his  poem  of 
"  Africa."  He  was  now  about  to  rejoin  at  Lombes  his  friend 
and  diocesan,  —  whom  he  saw  in  a  dream,  pale  as  death.  He 
communicated  this  dream  to  several  persons ;  and  twenty-five 
days  afterward  he  received  the  intelligence  of  its  perfect  truth. 
Another  friend,  more  advanced  in  years,  Dionigi  di  Borgo  San 
Sepolcro,  soon  followed.  Before  the  expiration  of  the  year  he 
was  installed  archdeacon  of  Parma.  Soon  after  this  appoint- 
ment, Benedict  XII.  died,  and  Clement  VI.  succeeded.  This 
pontiff  was  superior  to  all  his  predecessors  in  gracefulness  of 
manners  and  delicacy  of  taste,  and  at  his  accession  the  corrup- 
tions of  the  papal  court  became  less  gross  and  offensive.  He 
divided  his  time  between  literature  and  the  ladies,  —  not  quite 
impartially.  The  people  of  Rome  began  to  entertain  new  and 
higher  hopes  that  their  city  would  again  be  the  residence  of 
Christ's  vicegerent.  To  this  intent  they  delegated  eighteen 
of  the  principal  citizens,  and  chose  Petrarca,  who  had  received 
the  freedom  of  the  city  on  his  coronation,  to  present  at  once  a 
remonstrance  and  an  invitation.  The  polite  and  wary  pontiff 
heard  him  complacently,  talked  affably  and  familiarly  with  him, 
conferred  on  him  the  priory  of  Migliorino  ;  but,  being  a  French- 
man, thought  it  gallant  and  patriotic  to  remain  at  Avignon. 
Petrarca  was  little  disposed  to  return  with  the  unsuccessful  del- 
egates. He  continued  at  Avignon,  where  his  countryman  Sen- 
nuccio  del  Bene,  who  visited  the  same  society  as  Laura,  and 
who  knew  her  personally,  gave  him  frequent  information  of  her, 
though  little  hope. 

Youth  has  swifter  wings  than  Love.  Petrarca  had  loved 
Laura  sixteen  years ;  but  all  the  beauty  that  had  left  her 
features  had  settled  on  his  heart,  immovable,  unchangeable, 
eternal.  Politics  could,  however,  at  all  times  occupy  him,  — 
not  always  worthily.  He  was  induced  by  the  pope  to  under- 
take a  mission  to  Naples,  and  to  claim  the  government  of  that 
kingdom  on  the  part  of  his  holiness.  The  good  king  Robert 
was  dead,  and  had  bequeathed  the  crown  to  the  elder  of  his 

25 


386  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

two  granddaughters.  Giovanna,  at  nine  years  of  age,  was  be- 
trothed to  her  cousin  Andreas  of  Hungary,  who  was  three  years 
younger.  She  was  beautiful,  graceful,  gentle,  sensible,  and  fond 
of  literature  ;  he  was  uncouth,  ferocious,  ignorant,  and  gov- 
erned by  a  Hungarian  monk  of  the  same  character,  Fra  Rupert. 
It  is  deplorable  to  think  that  Petrarca  could  ever  have  been 
induced  to  accept  an  embassy  of  which  the  purport  was  to  de- 
prive of  her  inheritance  an  innocent  and  lovely  girl,  the  grand- 
daughter of  his  friend  and  benefactor.  She  received  him  with 
cordiality,  and  immediately  appointed  him  her  private  chap- 
lain. His  departure,  he  says,  was  hastened  by  two  causes,  — 
first,  by  the  insolence  of  Fra  Rupert,  which  he  has  well  de- 
scribed ;  and  secondly,  by  an  atrocious  sight,  which  also  he 
has  commemorated.  He  was  invited  to  an  entertainment,  of 
which  he  gives  us  to  understand  he  knew  not  at  all  the  nature. 
Suddenly  he  heard  shouts  of  joy,  and  "  turning  his  head,"  he 
beheld  a  youth  of  extraordinary  strength  and  beauty,  covered 
with  dust  and  blood,  expiring  at  his  feet.  He  left  Naples 
without  accomplishing  the  dethronement  of  Giovanna,  or  (what 
also  was  intrusted  to  him)  the  liberation  from  prison  of  some 
adherents  of  the  Colonnas,  —  robbers  no  doubt,  and  assassins, 
who  had  made  forays  into  the  Neapolitan  territory,  for  all  per- 
sons of  that  description  were  under  the  protection  of  the  Col- 
onnas or  the  Orsini.  His  failure  was  the  cause  of  his  return; 
and  not  the  ferocity  of  a  monk  and  a  gladiator. 

Petrarca  went  to  Parma  on  his  way  back  to  Avignon.  The 
roads  were  dangerous ;  war  was  raging  in  the  country.  His 
friend  Azzo  had  refused  to  perform  the  promise  he  had  made 
to  Lucchino  Visconti,  by  whose  intervention  he  had  obtained 
his  dominion,  which  he  was  to  retain  for  five  years  and  then 
resign.  Azzo,  Petrarca  found,  had  taken  refuge  with  Mastino 
della  Scala,  at  Verona ;  and  he  embarked  on  the  Po  for  that 
city.  His  friends  hastened  him  forward  to  Avignon,  —  some 
by  telling  him  how  often  the  pope  had  made  inquiries  about 
him  ;  and  others,  that  Laura  looked  melancholy.  On  his  return 
Clement  offered  him  the  office  of  Apostolic  secretary ;  it  was  a 
very  laborious  one,  and  was  declined. 

Laura,  pleased  by  Petrarca's  return  to  her,  was  for  a  time 
less  rigorous.  Within  the  year,  Charles  of  Luxemburg,  soon 
after  made  emperor,  went  to  Avignon.  Knowing  the  celebrity 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  387 

of  Laura,  and  finding  her  at  a  ball,  he  went  up  to  her  and 
kissed  her  forehead  and  her  eyes.  "This  sweet  and  strange 
action,"  says  her  lover,  "filled  me  with  envy."  Surely,  to  him 
at  least  the  sweetness  must  have  been  somewhat  less  than  the 
strangeness.  She  was  now  indeed  verging  on  her  fortieth  year ; 
but  love  is  forgetful  of  arithmetic.  The  following  summer, 
Francesco  .for  the  first  time  visited  his  only  brother  Gherardo, 
who  had  taken  the  monastic  habit  in  the  Chartreuse  of  Mon- 
trieu.  On  his  return  he  went  to  Vaucluse,  where  he  composed 
a  treatise  "  De  Otio  Religiosorum,"  which  he  presented  to  the 
monastery. 

Very  different  thoughts  and  feelings  now  suddenly  burst  up- 
on him.  Among  the  seventeen  who  accompanied  him  in  the 
deputation  inviting  the  pope  to  Rome,  there  was  another  be- 
sides Petrarca  chosen  for  his  eloquence.  It  was  Cola  Rienzi. 
The  love  of  letters  and  the  spirit  of  patriotism  united  them  in 
friendship.  This  extraordinary  man,  now  invested  with  power, 
had  driven  the  robbers  and  assassins,  with  their  patrons  the 
Orsini  and  Colonnas,  out  of  Rome,  and  had  established  (what 
rarely  are  found  together)  both  liberty  and  order.  The  dig- 
nity of  tribune  was  conferred  on  Rienzi ;  by  which  title  Petrarca 
addressed  him,  in  a  letter  of  sound  advice  and  earnest  solici- 
tation. Now  the  bishop  of  Lombes  was  dead  he  little  feared 
the  indignation  of  the  other  Colonnas,  but  openly  espoused 
and  loudly  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  resuscitated  common- 
wealth. The  cardinal  was  probably  taught  by  him  to  believe, 
that  by  his  influence  with  Rienzi  he  might  avert  from  his 
family  the  disaster  and  disgrace  into  which  the  mass  of  the 
nobility  had  fallen.  "  No  family  on  earth,"  says  he,  "is  dearer 
to  me ;  but  the  republic,  Rome,  Italy,  are  dearer." 

Petrarca  took  leave  of  the  prelate,  with  amity  on  both  sides 
undiminished ;  he  also  took  leave  of  Laura.  He  could  not 
repress,  he  could  not  conceal,  he  could  not  moderate  his  grief, 
nor  could  he  utter  one  sad  adieu.  A  look  of  fondness  and 
compassion  followed  his  parting  steps ;  and  the  lover  and 
the  beloved  were  separated  forever.  He  did  not  think  it,  else 
never  could  he  have  gone ;  'but  he  thought  a  brief  absence 
might  be  endured  once  more,  rewarded  as  it  would  be  with  an 
accession  to  his  glory,  —  and  precluded  from  other  union  with 
him,  in  his  glory  Laura  might  participate. 


388  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

Retired,  and  thinking  of  her  duties  and  her  home,  sat  Laura  ; 
not  indifferent  to  the  praises  of  the  most  celebrated  man  alive 
(for  her  heart  in  all  its  regions  was  womanly),  but  tepidly  tran- 
quil, or  moved  invisibly,  and  retaining  her  purity  amidst  the 
uncleanly  stream  that  deluged  Avignon.  We  may  imagine  that 
she  sometimes  drew  out  and  unfolded  on  her  bed  the  apparel, 
long  laid  apart  and  carefully  preserved  by  her,  in  which  she 
first  had  captivated  the  giver  of  her  immortality ;  we  may  im- 
agine that  she  sometimes  compared  with  him  an  illiterate, 
coarse,  morose  husband,  —  and  perhaps  a  sigh  escaped  her, 
and  perhaps  a  tear,  as  she  folded  up  again  the  cherished 
gown  she  wore  on  that  Good  Friday. 

On  his  arrival  at  Genoa,  Petrarca  heard  of  the  follies  and 
extravagances  committed  by  Rienzi,  and  instead  of  pursuing  his 
journey  to  Rome,  turned  off  to  Parma.  Here  he  learned  that 
the  greater  part  of  the  Roman  nobility,  and  many  of  the  Co- 
lonnas,  had  been  exterminated  by  order  of  the  tribune.  Un- 
questionably they  had  long  deserved  it;  but  the  exercise  of 
such  prodigious  power  unsettled  the  intellect  of  Rienzi.  In 
January  the  poet  left  Parma  for  Vienna,  where  on  the  25th 
(1348)  he  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake.  In  the  preceding 
month  a  column  of  fire  was  observed  above  the  pontifical  pal- 
ace. After  these  harbingers  of  calamity  came  that  memorable 
plague,  to  which  we  owe  the  immortal  work  of  Boccaccio,  — 
a  work  occupying  the  next  station,  in  continental  literature,  to 
the  "  Divina  Commedia,"  and  displaying  a  greater  variety  of 
powers.  The  pestilence  had  now  penetrated  into  the  northern 
parts  of  Italy,  and  into  the  southern  of  France  ;  it  had  ravaged 
Marseilles,  it  was  raging  in  Avignon.  Petrarca  sent  messenger 
after  messenger  for  intelligence.  Their  return  was  tardy ;  and 
only  on  the  igth  of  May  was  notice  brought  to  him  that  Laura 
had  departed  on  the  6th  of  April,  at  six  in  the  morning,  —  the 
very  day,  the  very  hour,  he  met  her  first.  Beloved  by  all  about 
her  for  her  gentleness  and  serenity,  she  expired  in  the  midst  of 
relatives  and  friends.  But  did  never  her  eyes  look  round  for 
one  who  was  away?  And  did  not  love,  did  not  glory,  tell  him 
that  in  that  chamber  he. might  at  least  have  died? 

Other  friends  were  also  taken  from  him.  Two  months  after  this 
event  he  lost  Cardinal  Colonna ;  and  then  Sennuccio  del  Bene, 
the  depositary  of  his  thoughts  and  the  interpreter  of  Laura's. 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  389 

The  Lord  of  Mantua,  Luigi  Gonzaga,  had  often  invited  Pe- 
trarca  to  his  court,  and  he  now  accepted  the  invitation.  From 
this  residence  he  went  to  visit  the  hamlet  of  Pietola,  formerly 
Andes,  the  birthplace  of  Virgil.  At  the  cradle  of  her  illustrious 
poet  the  glories  of  ancient  Rome  burst  again  upon  him ;  and 
hearing  that  Charles  of  Luxemburg  was  about  to  cross  the  Alps, 
he  addressed  to  him  an  eloquent  exhortation,  De  padficanda 
Italid.  After  three  years  the  emperor  sent  him  an  answer.  The 
testy  republican  may  condemn  Petrarca,  as  Dante  was  con- 
demned before,  for  inviting  a  stranger  to  become  supreme  in 
Italy ;  but  how  many  evils  would  this  step  have  obviated  ! 
Recluses  and  idlers,  and  often  the  most  vicious,  had  been  ele- 
vated to  the  honors  of  demigods  ;  and  incense  had  been  wafted 
before  the  altar,  among  the  most  solemn  rites  of  religion,  to 
pilferers  and  impostors.  As  the  Roman  empire,  with  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth,  was  sold  under  the  spear  by  the  Praeto- 
rian legion,  so  now,  with  title-deeds  more  defective,  was  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  knocked  down  to  the  best  bidder.  It  was 
not  a  desire  of  office  and  emolument,  it  was  a  love  of  freedom 
and  of  Roman  glory,  which  turned  the  eyes  of  Petrarca,  first 
in  one  quarter,  then  in  another,  to  seek  for  the  deliverance 
and  regeneration  of  his  native  land. 

No  preferment,  no  friendship,  stood  before  this  object.  In 
the  beginning  Petrarca  exhorted  Rienzi  to  the  prosecution  of 
his  enterprise,  and  augured  its  success.  But  the  vanity  of  the 
tribune,  like  Bonaparte's,  precipitated  his  ruin.  Both  were  so 
improvident  as  to  be  quite  unaware  that  he  who  continues  to 
play  at  double  or  quits  must  at  last  lose  all.  Rienzi,  different 
from  that  other,  was  endowed  by  Nature  with  manly,  frank,  and 
generous  sentiments.  Meditative  but  communicative,  studious 
but  accessible,  he  would  have  followed,  we  may  well  believe, 
the  counsels  of  Petrarca,  had  they  been  given  him  personally. 
Cautious  but  not  suspicious,  severe  but  not  vindictive,  he  might 
perhaps  have  removed  a  D'Enghien  by  the  axe,  but  never  a 
L'Ouverture  by  famine.  He  would  not  have  banished,  he 
would  not  have  treated  with  insolence  and  indignity,  the  great- 
est writer  of  the  age  from  a  consciousness  of  inferiority  in  in- 
tellect, as  that  other  did  in  Madame  de  Stae'l.  With  that  other, 
similarity  of  views  and  sentiments  was  no  bond  of  union ;  he 
hated,  he  maligned,  he  persecuted,  the  wisest  and  bravest  who 


3QO  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

would  not  serve  his  purposes ;  patriotism  was  a  ridicule,  honor 
was  an  insult  to  him,  and  veracity  a  reproach.  The  heart  of 
Rienzi  was  not  insane.  Instead  of  ordering  the  murder,  he 
would  have  condemned  to  the  gallows  the  murderer  of  such  a 
man  as  Hofer.  In  his  impetuous  and  eccentric  course  he  car- 
ried less  about  him  of  the  Middle  Ages  than  the  pestilent  me- 
teor that  flamed  forth  in  ours.  Petrarca  had  too  much  wisdom, 
too  much  virtue,  to  praise  or  countenance  him  in  his  pride  and 
insolence ;  but  his  fall  was  regretted  by  him,  and  is  even  still 
to  be  regretted  by  his  country.  It  is  indeed  among  the  great- 
est calamities  that  have  befallen  the  human  race,  condemned 
for  several  more  centuries  to  lie  in  chains  and  darkness. 

In  the  year  of  the  jubilee  (1350)  Petrarca  went  again  to 
Rome.  Passing  through  Florence,  he  there  visited  Boccaccio, 
whom  he  had  met  at  Naples.  What  was  scarcely  an  acquain- 
tance grew  rapidly  into  friendship ;  and  this  friendship,  honor- 
able to  both,  lasted  throughout  life,  unbroken  and  undiminished. 
Both  were  eloquent,  both  richly  endowed  with  fancy  and  imag- 
ination ;  but  Petrarca,  who  had  incomparably  the  least  of  these 
qualities,  had  a  readier  faculty  of  investing  them  with  verse,  — 
in  which  Boccaccio,  fond  as  he  was  of  poetry,  ill  succeeded. 
There  are  stories  in  the  "  Decameron "  which  require  more 
genius  to  conceive  and  execute  than  all  the  poetry  of  Petrarca ; 
and  indeed  there  is  in  Boccaccio  more  variety  of  the  mental 
powers  than  in  any  of  his  countrymen,  greatly  more  deep 
feeling,  greatly  more  mastery  over  the  human  heart,  than  in 
any  other  but  Dante.  Honesty,  manliness,  a  mild  and  social 
independence,  rendered  him  the  most  delightful  companion 
and  the  sincerest  friend. 

Petrarca  on  his  road  through  Arezzo  was  received  with  all 
the  honors  due  to  him ;  and  among  the  most  delicate  and  ac- 
ceptable to  a  man  of  his  sensibility  was  the  attendance  of  the 
principal  inhabitants  in  a  body,  who  conducted  him  to  the 
house  in  which  he  was  born,  showing  him  that  no  alteration 
had  been  permitted  to  be  made  in  it.  Padua  was  the  place  to 
which  he  was  going.  On  his  arrival  he  found  that  the  object 
of  his  visit,  Giovanni  da  Carrara,  had  been  murdered ;  never- 
theless, he  remained  there  several  days,  and  then  proceeded  to 
Venice.  Andrea  Dandolo  was  doge,  and  war  was  about  to 
break  out  between  the  Venetians  and  the  Genoese.  Petrarca, 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  391 

who  always  wished  most  anxiously  the  concord  and  union  of 
the  Italian  States,  wrote  a  letter  to  Dandolo,  powerful  in 
reasoning  and  eloquence,  dissuading  him  from  hostilities.  The 
poet  on  this  occasion  showed  himself  more  provident  than  the 
greatest  statesman  of  the  age.  On  the  6th  of  April,  the  thin  I 
anniversary  of  Laura's  death,  a  message  was  conveyed  to  him 
from  the  republic  of  Florence  restoring  his  property  and  his 
rights  of  citizen.  Unquestionably  he  who  brought  the  message 
counselled  the  measure,  and  calculated  the  day.  Boccaccio 
again  embraced  Petrarca. 

It  was  also  proposed  to  establish  a  university  at  Florence, 
and  to  nominate  the  illustrious  poet  its  rector.  Declining  the 
office,  he  returned  to  Vaucluse,  but  soon  began  to  fancy  that 
his  duty  called  him  to  Avignon.  Rome  and  all  Italy  swarmed 
with  robbers.  Clement,  from  the  bosom  of  the  Vicomtesse  de 
Turenne,  consulted  with  the  cardinals  on  the  means  of  restor- 
ing security  to  his  dominions.  Petrarca  too  was  consulted, 
and  in  the  most  elaborate  and  most  eloquent  of  his  writings  he 
recommended  the  humiliation  of  the  nobles,  the  restoration  of 
the  republic,  and  the  enactment  of  equal  laws. 

The  people  of  Rome  however  had  taken  up  arms  again, 
and  had  elected  for  their  chief  magistrate  Giovanni  Cerroni. 
The  privileges  of  the  popedom  were  left  untouched  and  un- 
questioned ;  not  a  drop  of  blood  was  shed  ;  property  was 
secure ;  tranquillity  was  established.  Clement,  whose  health 
was  declining,  acquiesced.  Petrarca,  disappointed  before,  was 
reserved  and  silent.  But  his  justice,  his  humanity,  his  grati- 
tude were  called  into  action  elsewhere. 

Ten  years  had  elapsed  since  his  mission  to  the  court  of 
Naples.  The  king  Andreas  had  been  assassinated,  and  the 
queen  Giovanna  was  accused  of  the  crime.  Andreas  had 
alienated  from  him  all  the  Neapolitans  excepting  the  servile, 
which  in  every  court  form  a  party,  and  in  most  a  majority. 
Luigi  of  Taranto,  the  queen's  cousin,  loved  her  from  her  child- 
hood, but  left  her  at  that  age.  Graceful  and  gallant  as  he  was, 
there  is  no  evidence  that  she  placed  too  implicit  and  intimate 
a  confidence  in  him.  Never  has  any  great  cause  been  judged 
with  less  discretion  by  posterity.  The  pope,  to  whom  she 
appealed  in  person,  and  who  was  deeply  interested  in  her 
condemnation,  with  all  the  cardinals  and  all  the  judges  unani- 


3Q2  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

mously  and  unreservedly  acquitted  her  of  participation  or  con- 
nivance or  knowledge.  Giannone,  the  most  impartial  and 
temperate  of  historians,  who  neglected  no  sources  of  informa- 
tion, bears  testimony  in  her  behalf.  Petrarca  and  Boccaccio, 
men  abhorrent  from  every  atrocity,  never  mention  her  but  with 
gentleness  and  compassion.  The  writers  of  the  country,  who 
were  nearest  to  her  person  and  her  times,  acquit  her  of  all 
complicity.  Nevertheless,  she  has  been  placed  in  the  dock  by 
the  side  of  Mary  Stuart.  It  is  as  certain  that  Giovanna  was 
not  guilty  as  that  Mary  was.  She  acknowledged  before  the 
whole  Pontifical  Court  her  hatred  of  her  husband,  and  in  the 
simplicity  of  her  heart  attributed  it  to  magic.  How  different 
was  the  magic  of  Othello  on  Desdemona  !  and  this  too  was 
believed. 

If  virtuous  thoughts  and  actions  can  compensate  for  an  irre- 
coverable treasure  which  the  tomb  encloses,  surely  now  must 
calm  and  happiness  have  returned  to  Petrarca's  bosom.  Not 
only  had  he  defended  the  innocent  and  comforted  the  sorrow- 
ful, in  Giovanna ;  but  with  singular  care  and  delicacy  he  recon- 
ciled two  statesmen  whose  disunion  would  have  been  ruinous 
to  her  government,  —  Acciajoli  and  Barili.  Another  generous 
action  was  now  performed  by  him,  in  behalf  of  a  man  by  whom 
he  and  Rome  and  Italy  had  been  deceived.  Rienzi,  after 
wandering  about  for  nearly  four  years,  was  cast  into  prison  at 
Prague,  and  then  delivered  up  to  the  pope.  He  demanded  to 
be  judged  according  to  law,  which  was  refused.  The  spirit 
of  Petrarca  rose  up  against  this  injustice,  and  he  addressed  a 
letter  to  the  Roman  people,  urging  their  interference.  They 
did  nothing.  But  it  was  believed  at  Avignon  that  Rienzi,  the 
correspondent  and  friend  of  Petrarca,  was  not  only  an  eloquent 
and  learned  man,  but  (what  Petrarca  had  taught  the  world  to 
reverence)  a  poet.  This  caused  a  relaxation  in  the  severity 
of  his  confinement,  subsequently  his  release,  and  ultimately  his 
restoration  to  power. 

Again  the  office  of  apostolic  secretary  was  offered  to  Pe- 
trarca ;  again  he  declined  it ;  again  he  retired  to  Vaucluse. 
Clement  died  ;  Innocent  was  elected,  —  so  illiterate  and  silly 
a  creature  that  he  took  the  poet  for  a  wizard  because  he  read 
Virgil.  It  was  time  to  revisit  Italy.  Acciajoli  had  invited  him 
to  Naples,  Dandolo  to  Venice  ;  but  he  went  to  neither.  Gio- 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  393 

vanni  Visconti,  Archbishop  of  Milan,  had  duly  succeeded  his 
brother  Lucchino  in  the  sovereignty.  Clement,  just  before  his 
decease,  sent  a  nuncio  to  him,  ordering  him  to  make  choice 
between  the  temporal  and  spiritual  power.  The  duke-arch- 
bishop made  no  answer ;  but  on  the  next  Sunday,  after  cele- 
brating pontifical  Mass  in  the  cathedral,  he  took  in  one  hand 
a  crozier,  in  the  other  a  drawn  sword,  and  "Tell  the  Holy 
Father,"  said  he,  "  here  is  the  spiritual,  here  the  temporal : 
one  defends  the  other."  Innocent  was  unlikely  to  intimidate 
a  prince  who  had  thus  defied  his  predecessor.  Giovanni  Vis- 
conti was  among  the  most  able  statesmen  that  Italy  has  pro- 
duced, and  Italy  has  produced  a  greater  number  of  the  greatest 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  universe.  Genoa,  reduced  to  extremi- 
ties by  Venice,  had  thrown  herself  under  his  protection ;  and 
Venice,  although  at  the  head  of  the  Italian  league,  guided  by 
Dandolo  and  flushed  with  conquest,  felt  herself  unable  to  con- 
tend with  him.  Visconti,  who  expected  and  feared  the  arrival 
of  the  emperor  in  Italy,  assumed  the  semblance  of  moderation. 
He  engaged  Petrarca,  whom  he  had  received  with  every  mark 
of  distinction  and  affection,  to  preside  in  a  deputation  with 
offers  of  peace  to  Dandolo.  The  doge  refused  the  conditions, 
and  Visconti  lost  no  time  in  the  prosecution  of  hostilities. 
These  were  so  successful  that  Venice  was  in  danger  of  falling ; 
and  Dandolo  died  of  a  broken  heart.  In  the  following  month 
died  also  Giovanni  Visconti.  The  emperor  Charles,  who  had 
deceived  the  hopes  of  the  Venetians  by  delaying  to  advance 
into  Italy,  now  crossed  the  Alps,  and  Petrarca  met  him  at 
Mantua.  Finding  him,  as  usual,  wavering  and  avaricious,  the 
poet  soon  left  him,  and  returned  to  the  nephews  and  heirs  of 
Visconti.  He  was  induced  by  Galeazzo  to  undertake  an  em- 
bassy to  the  emperor.  Ill  disposed  as  was  Charles  to  the 
family,  he  declared  that  he  had  no  intention  of  carrying  his 
arms  into  Italy.  On  this  occasion  he  sent  to  Petrarca  the 
diploma  of  Count  Palatine,  in  a  golden  box,  which  golden  box 
the  Count  Francesco  returned  to  the  German  chancellor,  and 
he  made  as  little  use  of  the  title. 

Petrarca  now  settled  at  Garignano,  a  village  three  miles  from 
Milan,  to  which  residence  he  gave  the  name  of  Linterno,  from 
the  villa  of  Scipio  on  the  coast  of  Naples.  Fond  as  he  was  of 
the  great  and  powerful,  he  did  not  always  give  them  the  prefer- 


394  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

ence.  Capra,  a  goldsmith  of  Bergamo,  enthusiastic  in  admira- 
tion of  his  genius,  invited  him  with  earnest  entreaties  to  honor 
that  city  with  a  visit.  On  his  arrival  the  governor  and  nobility 
contended  which  should  perform  the  offices  of  hospitality  to- 
ward so  illustrious  a  guest ;  but  he  went  at  once  to  the  house 
of  Capra,  where  he  was  treated  by  his  worthy  host  with  princely 
magnificence,  and  with  delicate  attentions  which  princely  mag- 
nificence often  overlooks.  The  number  of  choice  volumes  in 
his  library  and  the  conversation  of  Capra  were  evidences  of  a 
cultivated  understanding  and  a  virtuous  heart.  In  the  winter 
following  (1359)  Boccaccio  spent  several  days  at  Linterno, 
and  the  poet  gave  him  his  Latin  Eclogues  in  his  own  hand- 
writing. On  his  return  to  Florence,  Boccaccio  sent  his  friend 
the  "  Divina  Commedia,"  written  out  likewise  by  himself,  and 
accompanied  with  profuse  commendations. 

Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  this  noble  poem,  the  glory  of 
Italy,  and  admitting  at  that  time  but  one  other  in  the  world  to 
a  proximity  with  it,  was  wanting  to  the  library  of  Petrarca. 
His  reply  was  cold  and  cautious  :  the  more  popular  man,  it 
might  he  thought,  took  umbrage  at  the  loftier.  He  was 
jealous  even  of  the  genius  which  had  gone  by,  and  which  bore 
no  resemblance  to  his  own  except  in  the  purity  and  intensity 
of  love,  for  this  was  a  portion  of  the  genius  in  both.  Petrarca 
was  certainly  the  very  best  man  that  ever  was  a  very  vain  one  : 
and  vanity  has  a  better  excuse  for  itself  in  him  than  in  any  other, 
since  none  was  more  admired  by  the  world  at  large,  and  par- 
ticularly by  that  part  of  it  which  the  wisest  are  most  desirous 
to  conciliate,  turning  their  wisdom  in  full  activity  to  the  eleva- 
tion of  their  happiness.  Laura,  it  is  true,  was  sensible  of  little 
or  no  passion  for  him ;  but  she  was  pleased  with  his,  and  stood 
like  a  beautiful  Cariatid  of  stainless  marble  at  the  base  of  an 
image  on  which  the  eyes  of  Italy  were  fixed. 

Petrarca,  like  Boccaccio,  regretted  at  the  close  of  life  not 
only  the  pleasure  he  had  enjoyed,  but  also  the  pleasure  he 
had  imparted  to  the  world.  Both  of  them,  as  their  mental 
faculties  were  diminishing  and  their  animal  spirits  were  leaving 
them  apace,  became  unconscious  how  incomparably  greater 
was  the  benefit  than  the  injury  done  by  their  writings.  In 
Boccaccio  there  are  certain  tales  so  coarse  that  modesty  casts 
them  aside,  and  those  only  who  are  irreparably  contaminated 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  395 

can  receive  any  amusement  from  them ;  but  in  the  greater 
part  what  truthfulness,  what  tenderness,  what  joyousness,  what 
purity  !  Their  levities  and  gayeties  are  like  the  harmless  light- 
nings of  a  summer  sky  in  the  delightful  regions  they  were 
written  in.  Petrarca,  with  a  mind  which  bears  the  same  pro- 
portion to  Boccaccio's  as  the  Sorga  bears  to  the  Arno,  has 
been  the  solace  of  many  sad  hours  to  those  who  probably  were 
more  despondent.  It  may  be  that  at  the  time  when  he  was 
writing  some  of  his  softest  and  most  sorrowful  complaints,  his 
dejection  was  caused  by  dalliance  with  another  far  more  indul- 
gent than  Laura.  But  his  ruling  passion  was  ungratified  by 
her ;  therefore  she  died  unsung,  and,  for  aught  we  know  to  the 
contrary,  unlamented.  He  had  forgotten  what  he  had  de- 
clared in  Sonnet  17, — 

"  E,  se  di  lui  forse  altra  donna  spera, 
Vive  in  speranza  debile  e  fallace, 
Mio,  perche  sdegno  cio  ch'  a  voi  displace,  etc. 

If  any  other  hopes  to  find 

That  love  in  me  which  you  despise, 
Ah  I  let  her  leave  the  hope  behind  : 

I  hold  from  all  what  you  alone  should  prize." 

It  can  only  be  said  that  he  ceased  to  be  a  visionary ;  and 
we  ought  to  rejoice  that  an  inflammation  of  ten  years'  recur- 
rence sank  down  into  a  regular  fit,  and  settled  in  no  vital  part. 
Yet  I  cannot  but  wish  that  he  had  been  as  zealous  in  giving 
instruction  and  counsel  to  his  only  son  —  a  youth  whom  he 
represents  in  one  of  his  letters  to  have  been  singularly  modest 
and  docile  —  as  he  had  been  in  giving  it  to  princes,  emperors, 
and  popes,  who  exhibited  very  little  of  those  qualities. 
While  he  was  at  his  villa  at  Linterno,  the  unfortunate  youth 
robbed  the  house  in  Milan,  and  fled.  We  may  reasonably 
suppose  that  home  had  become  irksome  to  him,  and  that 
neither  the  eye  nor  the  heart  of  a  father  was  over  him.  Gio- 
vanni was  repentant,  was  forgiven,  and  died. 

The  tenderness  of  Petrarca,  there  is  too  much  reason  to 
fear,  was  at  all  times  concentrated  in  self.  A  nephew  of  his 
early  patron  Colonna,  in  whose  house  he  had  spent  many 
happy  hours,  was  now  deprived  of  house  and  home,  and  being 
reduced  to  abject  poverty  had  taken  refuge  in  Bologna.  He 


396  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

had  surely  great  reason  to  complain  of  Petrarca,  who  never  in 
his  journeys  to  and  fro  had  visited  or  noticed  him,  or,  rich  as 
he  was  in  benefices  by  the  patronage  of  his  family,  offered  him 
any  succor.  This  has  been  excused  by  Mr.  Campbell :  it  may 
be  short  of  turpitude,  but  it  is  farther,  much  farther,  from  gen- 
erosity and  from  justice.  Never  is  mention  made  by  him  of 
Laura's  children,  whom  he  must  have  seen  with  her,  and  one 
or  other  of  whom  must  have  noticed  with  the  pure  delight  of 
unsuspicious  childhood  his  fond  glances  at  the  lovely  mother. 
Surely  in  all  the  years  he  was  devoted  to  Laura,  one  or  other  of 
her  children  grieved  her  by  ill-health,  or  perhaps  by  dying ;  for 
virtue  never  set  a  mark  on  any  door  so  that  sickness  and  sor- 
row must  not  enter.  But  Petrarca  thought  more  about  her 
eyes  than  about  those  tears  that  are  usually  the  inheritance,  of 
the  brightest,  and  may  well  be  supposed  to  have  said  in  some 
inedited  canzone,  — 

"  What  care  I  what  tears  there  be, 
If  the  tears  are  not  for  me  ? " 

His  love,  when  it  administered  nothing  to  his  celebrity,  was 
silent.  Of  his  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter,  not  a  word 
is  uttered  in  any  of  his  verses.  How  beautifully  does  Ovid, 
who  is  thought  in  general  to  have  been  less  tender,  and  was 
probably  less  chaste,  refer  to  the  purer  objects  of  his  affection,  — 

"  Unica  nata,  mei  justissima  causa  doloris,"  etc. 

Petrarca's  daughter  lived  to  be  the  solace  of  his  age,  and 
married  happily.  Boccaccio,  in  the  most  beautiful  and  inter- 
esting letter  in  the  whole  of  Petrarca's  correspondence,  men- 
tions her  kind  reception  of  him,  and  praises  her  beauty  and 
demeanor.  Even  the  unhappy  boy  appears  to  have  been  by 
nature  of  nearly  the  same  character.  According  to  the  father's 
own  account,  his  disposition  was  gentle  and  tractable ;  he  was 
modest  and  shy,  and  abased  his  eyes  before  the  smart  witti- 
cisms of  Petrarca  on  the  defects  his  own  negligence  had  caused. 
A  parent  should  never  excite  a  blush,  nor  extinguish  one. 

Domestic  cares  bore  indeed  lightly  on  a  man  perpetually 
busy  in  negotiations.  He  could  not  but  despise  the  emperor, 
who  yet  had  influence  enough  over  him  to  have  brought  him 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  397 

into  Germany.  But  bands  of  robbers  infested  the  road,  and  the 
plague  was  raging  in  many  of  the  intermediate  cities.  It  had 
not  reached  Venice,  and  there  Petrarca  took  refuge.  Wherever 
he  went,  he  carried  a  great  part  of  his  library  with  him  ;  but  he 
found  it  now  more  inconvenient  than  ever,  and  therefore  he 
made  a  present  of  it  to  the  republic,  on  condition  that  it 
neither  should  be  sold  nor  separated.  It  was  never  sold,  it 
was  never  separated ;  but  it  was  suffered  to  fall  into  decay,  and 
not  a  single  volume  of  the  collection  is  now  extant.  While 
he  was  at  Verona,  his  friend  Boccaccio  made  him  another 
visit,  and  remained  with  him  three  summer  months.  The 
plague  deprived  him  of  Laelius,  of  Socrates,  and  of  Barbato. 
Among  his  few  surviving  friends  was  Philip  de  Cabassoles,  now 
patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  to  whom  he  had  promised  the  dedi- 
cation of  his  treatise  on  "Solitary  Life,"  which  he  began  at 
Vaucluse. 

Urban  V.,  successor  to  Innocent,  designed  to  reform  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  Church,  and  Petrarca  thought  he  had  a  better 
chance  than  ever  of  seeing  its  head  at  Rome.  Again  he  wrote 
a  letter  on  the  occasion,  learned,  eloquent,  and  enthusiastically 
bold.  Urban  had  perhaps  already  fixed  his  determination. 
Despite  of  remonstrances  on  the  side  of  the  French  king,  and 
of  intrigues  on  the  side  of  the  cardinals,  whose  palaces  and 
mistresses  must  be  left  behind,  Urban  quitted  Avignon  on  the 
3Oth  of  April,  1367,  and,  after  a  stay  of  four  months  at  Viterbo, 
entered  Rome.  Before  this  event  Petrarca  had  taken  into  his 
house,  and  employed  as  secretary,  a  youth  of  placid  temper  and 
sound  understanding,  which  he  showed  the  best  disposition  to 
cultivate.  His  name  was  Giovanni  Malpighi,  better  known 
afterward  as  Giovanni  da  Ravenna.  He  was  admitted  to  the 
table,  to  the  walks,  and  to  the  travels  of  his  patron,  enjoying  far 
more  of  his  kindness  and  affection  than,  at  the  same  time  of 
life,  had  ever  been  bestowed  upon  his  son.  Petrarca  superin- 
tended his  studies,  and  prepared  him  for  the  clerical  profes- 
sion. Unexpectedly  one  morning  this  youth  entered  his  study, 
and  declared  he  would  stay  no  longer  in  the  house.  In  vain 
did  Petrarca  try  to  alter  his  determination ;  neither  hope  nor 
fear  moved  him,  and  nothing  was  left  but  to  accompany  him 
as  far  as  Venice.  Giovanni  would  see  the  tomb  of  Virgil ; 
he  would  visit  the  birthplace  of  Ennius ;  he  would  learn 


FRANCESCO    PETRARCA. 

Greek  at  Constantinople.  He  went  however  no  farther  than 
Pavia,  where  Petrarca  soon  followed  him,  and  pardoned  his 
extravagance. 

Urban  had  no  sooner  established  the  holy  see  at  Rome 
again  than  he  began  to  set  Italy  in  a  flame,  raising  troops  in 
all  quarters,  and  directing  them  against  the  Visconti.  The 
emperor  too,  in  earnest,  had  resolved  on  war.  But  Bernabo 
Visconti,  who  knew  his  avarice,  knew  how  to  divert  his  arms. 
He  came  into  Italy,  but  only  to  lead  the  pope's  palfrey  and 
to  assist  at  the  empress's  coronation.  Urban  sent  an  invita- 
tion to  Petrarca ;  and  he  prepared,  although  in  winter,  to  re- 
visit Rome.  Conscious  that  his  health  was  declining,  he  made 
his  will.  To  the  Lord  of  Padua  he  bequeathed  a  picture  of 
the  Virgin  by  Giotto,  and  to  Boccaccio  fifty  gold  florins  for 
a  cloak  to  keep  him  warm  in  his  study. 

Such  was  his  debility,  Petrarca  could  proceed  no  farther 
than  Ferrara,  and  thought  it  best  to  return  to  Paiua.  For  the 
benefit  of  the  air  he  settled  in  the  hamlet  of  Arqua,  where  he 
built  a  villa,  and  where  his  daughter  and  her  husband  Fran- 
cesco di  Brossano  came  to  live  with  him.  Urban  died,  and 
was  succeeded  by  Gregory  XL,  who  would  have  added  to  the 
many  benefices  held  already  by  Petrarca ;  and  the  poet  in 
these  his  latter  days  was  not  at  all  averse  to  the  gifts  of  fortune. 
His  old  friend  the  .bishop  of  Cabassoles,  now  a  cardinal,  was 
sent  as  legate  to  Perugia.  Petrarca  was  desirous  of  visiting  him, 
and  the  rather  as  the  prelate's  health  was  declining ;  but  be- 
fore his  own  enabled  him  to  undertake  the  journey,  he  had 
expired. 

One  more  effort  of  friendship  was  the  last  reserved  for  him. 
Hostilities  broke  out  between  the  Venetians  and  Francesco  da 
Ferrara,  aided  by  the  king  of  Hungary,  who  threatened  to  aban- 
don his  cause  unless  he  consented  to  terms  of  peace.  Venice 
now  recovered  her  advantages,  and  reduced  Francesco  to  the 
most  humiliating  conditions  :  he  was  obliged  to  send  his  son  to 
ask  pardon  of  the  republic.  To  render  this  less  intolerable,  he 
prevailed  on  Petrarca  to  accompany  the  youth,  and  to  plead  his 
cause  before  the  senate.  Accompanied  by  a  numerous  and  a 
splendid  train,  they  arrived  at  the  city ;  audience  was  granted 
them  on  the  morrow.  But  fatigue  and  illness  so  affected  Pe- 
trarca that  he  could  not  deliver  the  speech  he  had  prepared. 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  399 

Among  the  many  of  his  compositions  which  are  lost  to  us  is  this 
oration.  Happily  there  is  preserved  the  friendly  letter  he  wrote 
to  Boccaccio  on  his  return,  —  the  last  of  his  writings.  During 
the  greater  part  of  his  lifetime,  though  no  less  zealous  than 
Boccaccio  himself  in  recovering  the  works  of  the  Classics,  he 
never  had  read  the  "  Divina  Commedia ;  "  nor,  until  this  period 
of  it,  the  "  Decameron,"  —  the  two  most  admirable  works  the 
Continent  has  produced  from  the  restoration  of  learning  to  the 
present  day.  Boccaccio,  who  had  given  him  the  one,  now  gave 
him  the  other.  In  his  letter  of  thanks  for  it,  he  excuses  the 
levity  of  his  friend  in  some  places,  attributes  it  to  the  season  of 
life  in  which  the  book  was  written,  and  relates  the  effect  the 
story  of  Griseldis  had  produced,  not  only  on  himself,  but  on 
another  of  less  sensibility.  He  even  learned  it  by  heart,  that 
he  might  recite  it  to  his  friends ;  and  he  sent  the  author  a 
Latin  translation  of  it.  Before  this,  but  among  his  latest  com- 
positions, he  had  written  an  indignant  answer  to  an  unknown 
French  monk  who  criticised  his  letter  to  Urban,  and  who  had 
spoken  contemptuously  of  Rome  and  Italy.  Monks  generally 
know  at  what  most  vulnerable  part  to  aim  the  dagger,  and  the 
Frenchman  struck  Petrarca  between  his  vanity  and  his  patriot- 
ism. A  greater  mind  would  have  looked  down  indifferently  on 
a  dwarf  assailant,  and  would  never  have  lifted  him  up  even  for 
derision.  The  most  prominent  rocks  and  headlands  are  most 
exposed  to  the  elements ;  but  those  which  can  resist  the  vio- 
lence of  the  storms  are  in  little  danger  from  the  corrosion  of 
the  limpets. 

On  the  1 8th  of  July,  1374,  Petrarca  was  found  in  his 
library,  his  brow  upon  a  book  he  had  been  reading :  he  was 
dead. 

There  is  no  record  of  any  literary  man,  or  perhaps  of  any 
man  whatsoever,  to  whom  such  honors,  —  honors  of  so  many 
kinds,  and  from  such  different  quarters  and  personages,  —  have 
been  offered.  They  began  in  his  early  life,  and  we  are  walk- 
ing at  this  hour  in  the  midst  of  the  procession.  Few  travellers 
dare  to  return  from  Italy  until  they  can  describe  to  the  attentive 
ear  and  glistening  eye  the  scenery  of  the  Euganean  hills.  He 
who  has  loved  truly,  and  above  all  he  who  has  loved  unhappily, 
approaches,  as  holiest  altars  are  approached,  the  cenotaph  on 
the  little  columns  at  Arqua. 


4OO  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

The  Latin  works  of  Petrarca  were  esteemed  by  himself  more 
highly  than  his  Italian.1  His  Letters  and  his  Dialogues,  "  De 
Contemptu  Mundi,"  are  curious  and  valuable.  In  the  latter  he 
converses  with  Saint  Augustine,  to  whom  he  is  introduced  by 
"  Truth,"  the  same  personage  who  appears  in  his  "  Africa,"  and 
whom  Voltaire  also  invokes  to  descend  on  his  little  gravelly 
Champ  de  Mars,  the  "  Henriade."  The  third  dialogue  is  about 
his  love  for  Laura,  and  nobly  is  it  defended.  He  wrote  a  treatise 
on  the  ignorance  of  one's  self  and  others  (multoruiri},  in  which 
he  has  taken  much  from  Cicero  and  Augustine,  and  in  which 
he  afterward  forgot  a  little  of  his  own.  "  Ought  we  to  take  it 
to  heart,"  says  he,  "  if  we  are  ill-spoken  of  by  the  ignorant  and 
malicious,  when  the  same  thing  happened  to  Homer  and  De- 
mosthenes, to  Cicero  and  Virgil?"  He  was  fond  of  follow- 
ing these  two,  —  Cicero  in  the  number  of  his  epistles,  Virgil  in 
eclogue  and  in  epic. 

Of  his  twelve  Eclogues,  which  by  a  strange  nomenclature 
he  also  called  Bucolics,  many  are  satirical.  In  the  sixth  and 
seventh  Pope  Clement  is  represented  in  the  character  of  Mitio. 
In  the  sixth  Saint  Peter,  under  the  name  of  Pamphilus,  re- 
proaches him  for  the  condition  in  which  he  keeps  his  flock,  and 
asks  him  what  he  has  done  with  the  wealth  intrusted  to  him. 
Mitio  answers  that  he  has  kept  the  gold  arising  from  the  sale 
of  the  lambs,  and  that  he  has  given  the  milk  to  certain  friends 
of  his.  He  adds  that  his  spouse,  very  different  from  the  old 
woman  Pamphilus  was  contented  with,  went  about  in  gold  and 
jewels.  As  for  the  rams  and  goats,  they  played  their  usual 
gambols  in  the  meadow,  and  he  himself  looked  on.  Pamphi- 
lus is  indignant,  and  tells  him  he  ought  to  be  flogged  and  sent 
to  prison  for  life.  Mitio  drops  on  a  sudden  his  peaceful  char- 
acter, and  calls  Pamphilus  a  faithless  runaway  slave,  deserving 
the  fetter  and  the  cross.  In  the  twelfth  eclogue,  under  the  ap- 
pellations of  Pan  and  Arcticus,  are  represented  the  kings  of 
France  and  England.  Arcticus  is  indignant  at  the  favors  Pan 
receives  from  Faustula  (Avignon).  To  King  John  the  pope 

1  It  is  incredible  that  Julius  Caesar  Scaliger,  who  has  criticised  so  vast 
a  number  of  later  poets  quite  forgotten,  and  deservedly,  should  never  have 
even  seen  the  Latin  poetry  of  Petrarca.  His  words  are  :  "  Primus,  quod 
equidem  sciam,  Petrarca  ex  lutulenta,  barbaric  os  coelo  attollere  ausus  est, 
cttjus,  quemadraodum  diximus  alibi,  quod  nihil  videre  licuerit,  ejus  viri  cas- 
tigationes  sicut  et  alia  multa,  relinquam  studiosis."  (Poet.  1.  vi.  p.  769). 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  4OI 

had  remitted  his  tenths,  so  that  he  was  enabled  to  continue  the 
war  against  England,  which  ended  in  his  captivity. 

Petrarca  in  all  his  Latin  poetry,  and  indeed  in  all  his  Latin 
compositions,  is  an  imitator,  and  generally  a  very  unsuccessful 
one ;  but  his  versification  is  more  harmonious  than  any  since 
Boethius,  and  his  language  has  more  the  air  of  antiquity  and 
more  resembles  the  better  models. 

We  now  come  to  his  Italian  poetry.  In  this  he  is  less  defi- 
cient in  originality,  though  in  several  pieces  he  has  imitated 
too  closely  Cino  da  Pistoja,  —  "  Mille  dubj  in  un  di,"  for  in- 
stance, in  his  seventh  canzone.  Cino  is  crude  and  enigmatical ; 
but  there  is  a  beautiful  sonnet  by  him  addressed  to  Dante, 
which  he  wrote  on  passing  the  Apennines,  and  stopping  to 
visit  the  tomb  and  invoke  the  name  of  Selvaggia.  Petrarca 
late  in  life  made  a  collection  of  sonnets  on  Laura ;  they  are 
not  printed  in  the  order  in  which  they  were  written.  The  first 
is  a  kind  of  prologue  to  the  rest,  as  the  first  ode  of  Horace  is. 
There  is  melancholy  grace  in  this  preliminary  piece.  The  third 
ought  to  have  been  the  second ;  for  after  having  in  the  first 
related  his  errors  and  regrets,  we  might  have  expected  to  find 
the  cause  of  them  in  the  following,  —  we  find  it  in  the  third. 
"  Di  pensier  in  pensier,"  "Chiare  dolci  e  fresche  acque,"  "Se 
il  pensier  che  mi  strugge,"  "  Benedetto  sia  il  giorno,"  "  Solo  e 
pensoso,"  are  incomparably  better  than  the  "Tre  Sorelle  "  by 
which  the  Italians  are  enchanted,  and  which  the  poet  himself 
views  with  great  complacency.  These  three  are  upon  the  eyes 
of  Laura.  The  seventh  canzone,  the  second  of  the  "  Sorelle," 
or,  as  they  have  often  been  styled,  the  "  Grazie,"  is  the  most 
admired  of  them.  In  this,  however,  the  ear  is  offended  at 
"  Qual  all'  alto."  The  critics  do  not  observe  this  sad  caco- 
phony. And  nothing  is  less  appropriate  than,  — 

"  Ed  al  fuoco  gentil  ond'  io  tutf  ardo" 
The  close  is,  - 

"  Canzon  !  1'una  Sorella  e  poco  inanzi, 
E  1'  altra  sento  in  quel  medesmo  albergo 
Apparecchiarsi,  ond'  io  piu  carta  vergo" 

This  ruins  the  figure.     What  becomes  of  the  Sorella,  and  the 
albergo,  and  the  appareechiarsi  ?     The  third  is  less  celebrated 
,  than  the  two  elder  sisters. 

26 


4O2  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

Muratori,  the  most  judicious  of  Italian  commentators,  gives 
these  canzoni  the  preference  over  the  others ;  but  it  remained 
for  a  foreigner  to  write  correctly  on  them,  and  to  demonstrate 
that  they  are  very  faulty.  I  find  more  faults  and  graver  than 
Ginguene  has  found  in  them ;  but  I  do  not  complain  with  him 
so  much  that  the  commencement  of  the  third  is  heavy  and 
languid,  as  that  serious  thoughts  are  intersected  with  quibbles 
and  spangled  with  conceits.  I  will  here  remark  freely,  and  in 
some  detail,  on  this  part  of  the  poetry  of  Petrarca. 

SONETTO  XXI.  It  will  be  difficult  to  find  in  all  the  domains 
of  poetry  so  frigid  a  conceit  as  in  the  conclusion  of  this 
sonnet,  — 

"  E  far  delle  sue  braccia  a  se  stess'  ombra." 

Strange  that  it  should  be  followed  by  the  most  beautiful  he 
ever  wrote,  — 

"  Solo  e  pensoso,"  etc. 

CANZONE  I. 

"  Ne  mano  ancor  m*  agghiaccia 
L'  esser  eoperto  poi  di  bianche  piume, 
Ond'  io  presi  col  suon  color  di  cigno  I  " 

How  very  inferior  is  this  childish  play  to  Horace's  ode,  in 
which  he  also  becomes  a  swan  ! 

CANZONE  III.  Among  the  thousand  offices  which  he  attrib- 
utes to  the  eyes  is  carrying  the  keys.  Here  he  talks  of  the 
sweet  eyes  carrying  the  keys  of  his  sweet  thoughts.  Again  he 
has  a  peep  at  the  keyhole  in  the  seventh,  — 

"  Quel  cuor  ondr  hanno  i  begli  occhi  la  chiave." 

He  also  lets  us  into  the  secret  that  he  is  really  fond  of  com- 
plaining, and  that  he  takes  pains  to  have  his  eyes  always  full 
of  tears,  — 

"  Ed  io  son  un  di  quei  ch'  il  pianger  giova, 
E  par  ben  ch'  io  m'  ingegno 
Che  di  lagrime  pregni 
Sien  gli  occhi  miei." 

SONETTO  XX.  Here  are  Phoebus,  Vulcan,  Jupiter,  Ccesar, 
Janus,  Saturn,  Mars,  Orion,  Neptune,  Juno,  and  a  chorus  of 
Angels ;  and  they  have  only  fourteen  lines  to  turn  about  in  ! 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  403 

CANZONE  IV.  The  last  part  has  merit  from  "  E  perche  un 
poco." 

SONETTO  XXXIX.  In  this  beautiful  sonnet,  as  in  almost 
every  one,  there  is  a  redundancy  of  words  ;  for  instance,  — 

"  Benedetto  sia  il  giorno,  e  '1  mese,  e  1'  anno, 
E  la  stagion,  e  Y  tempo." 

SONETTO  XL.  is  very  serious.  It  is  a  prayer  to  God  that  his 
heart  may  be  turned  to  other  desires,  and  that  it  may  re- 
member how  on  that  day  He  was  crucified. 

SESTINA  III.  With  what  derision  would  a  poet  of  the 
present  day  be  treated  who  had  written  such  stuff  as  — 

"  E  pel  bel  petto  1'  indurate  ghiaccio 
Che  trae  dal  mio  si  dolor  osi vcnti" 

SONETTO  XLIV.  "  L'aspetto  sacro  "  is  ingenious,  yet  with- 
out conceits. 

CANZONE  VIII.  So  far  as  we  know,  it  has  never  been  re- 
marked (nor  indeed  is  an  Italian  Academia  worth  a  remark) 
that  the  motto  of  the  Academia  della  Crusca,  "  II  piu  bel  fior 
ne  coglie,"  is  from 

"  E,  le  onorate 
Cose  cercando,  il  piu  bel  fior  ne  coglie." 

SONETTO  XLVI.  Here  he  wonders  whence  all  the  ink  can 
come  with  which  he  fills  his  paper  on  Laura. 

SONETTO  L.  In  the  fourteenth  year  of  his  passion,  his 
ardor  is  increasing  to  such  a  degree  that  he  says,  "Death 
approaches  .  .  .  and  life  flies  away"  — 

"  Che  la  morte  m'appressa  .  .  .  e  V  viver  fugge." 

We  believe  there  is   no  instance  where  life  has  resisted  the 
encounter. 

SONETTO  LIX.  This  is  very  different  from  all  his  others. 
The  first  part  is  poor  enough ;  the  last  would  be  interesting  if 
we  could  believe  it  to  be  more  than  imaginary.  Here  he 
boasts  of  the  impression  he  had  made  on  Laura,  yet  in  his  last 
canzone  he  asks  her  whether  he  ever  had.  The  words  of  this 
sonnet  are,  — 

"  Era  ben  forte  la  nemica  mia, 
E  lei  viddi  io  ferita  in  mezzo  al core" 


404  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

But  we  may  well  take  all  this  for  ideal,  when  we  read  the  very 
next,  in  which  he  speaks  of  being  free  from  the  thraldom  that 
had  held  him  so  many  years. 

SONETTO  LXVI.  The  conclusion  from  "  Ne  mi  lece  ascol- 
tar  "  is  very  animated ;  here  is  greatly  more  vigor  and  incita- 
tion  than  usual. 

CANZONE  IX.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  anywhere,  except 
in  the  rarest  and  most  valuable  books,  so  wretched  a  poem  as 
this.  The  rhymes  occur  over  and  over  again,  not  only  at  the 
close,  but  often  at  the  fifth  and  sixth  syllables,  and  then 
another  time.  Metastasio  has  managed  best  the  redundant 
rhymes. 

SONETTO  LXXIII.  The  final  part,  "  L'  aura  soave,"  is  ex- 
quisitely beautiful,  and  the  harmony  complete. 

SONETTO  LXXXIV.  "  Quel  vago  impallidir  "  is  among  the 
ten  best. 

CANZONE  X.  In  the  last  stanza  there  is  a  lightness  of  move- 
ment not  always  to  be  found  in  the  graces  of  Petrarca. 

CANZONE  XL  This  is  incomparably  the  most  elaborate  work 
of  the  poet,  but  it  is  very  far  from  the  perfection  of  "  Solo  e 
pensoso."  The  second  and  third  stanzas  are  inferior  to  the 
rest ;  and  the  "  fera  bella  e  mansueta  "  is  quite  unworthy  of 
the  place  it  occupies. 

CANZONE  XIII.  is  extremely  beautiful,  until  we  come  to 

"  Pur  ti  medesmo  assido, 
Me  f reddo, pietra  morta  in pietra  viva'* 

SONETTO  XCV.  "  Pommi  ovi  '1  Sol "  is  imitated  from 
Horace's  "  Pone  me  pigris,"  etc. 

SONETTO  XCVIII.  Four  verses  are  filled  with  the  names  of 
rivers,  excepting  the  monosyllables  non  and  e.  He  says  that 
all  these  rivers  cannot  slake  the  fire  that  is  the  anguish  of  his 
heart,  —  no,  nor  even  ivy,  fir,  pine,  beech,  or  juniper.  It  is  by 
no  means  a  matter  of  wonder  that  these  subsidiaries  lend  but. 
little  aid  to  the  exertions  of  the  fireman. 

SONETTO  CX.,  — 

"  O  anime  gentili  ed  amorose  " 

has  been  imitated  and  improved  upon  by  Redi,  in  his 
"  Donne  gentili,  divote  d'  amore." 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  405 

SONETTO  CXI.  No  extravagance  ever  surpassed  the  invoca- 
tion to  the  rocks  in  the  water,  requiring  that  henceforward 
there  should  not  be  a  single  one  which  had  neglected  to 
learn  how  to  bum  with  his  flames.  He  himself  can  only  go 
farther  in 

SONETTO  CXIX,  where  he  tells  us  that  Laura's  eyes  can 
burn  up  the  Rhine  when  it  is  most  frozen,  and  crack  its  hardest 
rocks. 

SONETTO  CXXXII.  In  the  precarious  state  of  her  health,  he 
fears  more  about  the  disappointment  of  his  hopes  in  love  than 
about  her  danger. 

SONETTO  CXLVIII.  His  descriptions  of  beauty  are  not 
always  distinct  and  correct ;  for  example,  — 

"  Gli  occhi  sereni  e  le  stellanti  ciglia 
La  bella  bocca  angelica  .  .  .  de  perle 
Piena,  e  di  rose  .  .  .  e  di  dolci  parole" 

In  this  place  we  shall  say  a  little  about  "  occhi  "  and  "  ciglia." 
First,  the  sense  would  be  better  and  the  verse  equally  good  if, 
transposing  the  epithets,  it  were  written  — 

"  Gli  occhi  stellanti  e  le  serene  ciglia." 

The  Italian  poets  are  very  much  in  the  habit  of  putting  the 
eyelashes  for  the  eyes,  because  "  ciglia  "  is  a  most  useful  rhyme. 
The  Latin  poets,  contented  with  oculi,  ocelli,  and  lumina, 
never  employ  cilia,  of  which  indeed  they  appear  to  have  made 
but  little  account.  Greatly  more  than  a  hundred  times  has 
Petrarca  inserted  "  eyes  "  into  the  first  part  of  his  sonnets ;  it 
is  rarely  that  we  find  one  without  its  occhi.  They  certainly  are 
very  ornamental  things ;  but  it  is  not  desirable  for  a  poet  to 
resemble  an  Argus. 

CANZONE  XV.  The  versification  here  differs  from  the  others 
but  is  no  less  beautiful  than  in  any  of  them.  However,  where 
Love  appears  in  person,  we  would  rather  that  Pharaoh,  Rachel, 
etc.,  were  absent. 

SONETTO  CLVII.  He  tells  us  on  what  day  he  entered  the 
labyrinth  of  love, — 

"  Mille  trecento  ventisette  appunto 
Still'  ora  prima  il  di  setto  d'Aprili." 


4O6  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

This  poetry  has  very  unfairly  been  taken  advantage  of,  in  a  book 

"  Written  by  William  Prynne  Esquier,  the 
Year  of  our  Lord  sixteen  hundred  thirty-three." 

SONETTO  CLVIII.    He  has  now  loved  twenty  years. 

SONETTO  CLXI.  The  first  verse  is  rendered  very  inharmonious 
by  the  caesura  and  the  final  word  having  syllables  that  rhyme. 
"  Tutto  '1  dipiango,"  "  e  per  la  notte  quan&o"  "  lagrimanJe," 
and  "  consumando  "  are  considered  as  rhymes,  although  rhymes 
should  be  formed  by  similarity  of  sound  and  not  by  iden- 
tity. The  Italians,  the  Spaniards,  and  the  French  reject  this 
canon. 

SONETTO  CLXXXVII,  on  the  present  of  two  roses,  is  light 
and  pretty. 

SONETTO  CXCII.  He  fears  he  may  never  see  Laura  again. 
Probably  this  was  written  after  her  death.  He  dreams  of  her 
saying  to  him,  "  Do  you  not  remember  the  last  evening,  when 
I  left  you  with  your  eyes  in  tears?  Forced  to  go  away  from 
you,  I  would  not  tell  you,  nor  could  I,  what  I  tell  you  now. 
Do  not  hope  'to  see  me  again  on  earth"  This  most  simple  and 
beautiful  sonnet  has  been  less  noticed  than  many  which  a  pure 
taste  would  have  rejected.  The  next  is  a  vision  of  Laura's 
death.  There  are  verses  in  Petrarca  which  will  be  uttered  by 
many  sorrowers  through  many  ages.  Such,  for  instance,  are  — 

"  Non  la  conobbe  il  mondo  mentre  1'  ebbe, 
Conobbila  io  chi  a  pianger  qui  rimasi." 

But  we  are  hard  of  belief  when  he  says  — 

"  Pianger  cercai,  non  gib  dal  pianto  onore." 

There  are  fourteen  more  sonnets,  and  one  more  canzone  in 
the  first  series  of  the  "  Rime ;  "  but  we  must  here  close  it. 
Of  the  second,  third,  and  fourth  series  we  must  be  contented 
with  fewer  notices,  for  already  we  have  exceeded  the  limits  we 
proposed.  They  were  written  after  Laura's  death,  and  contain 
altogether  somewhat  more  than  the  first  alone.  Many  of  the 
poems  in  them  are  grave,  tender,  and  beautiful ;  there  are  the 
same  faults,  but  fewer  in  number,  and  less  in  degree.  He 
never  talks  again,  as  he  does  in  the  last  words  of  the  first,  of 
carrying  a  laurel  and  a  column  in  his  bosom,  —  the  one  for 
fifteen,  the  other  for  eighteen  years. 


FRANCESCO  PETRARCA.  4O/ 

Ginguene  seems  disinclined  to  allow  a  preference  to  this 
second  part  of  the  Canzoniere ;  but  surely  it  is  in  general  far 
more  pathetic,  and  more  exempt  from  the  importunities  of 
petty  fancies.  He  takes  the  trouble  to  translate  the  wretched 
sonnet  (XXXIII.  Part  II.)  in  which  the  waters  of  the  river  are 
increased  by  the  poet's  tears,  and  the  fish  (as  they  had  a  right 
to  expect)  are  spoken  to.  But  the  next  is  certainly  a  most 
beautiful  poem,  and  worthy  of  Dante  himself,  whose  manner 
of  thinking  and  style  of  expression  it  much  resembles.  There 
is  a  canzone  in  dialogue  which  also  resembles  it  in  sentiment 
and  feeling, — 

"  Quando  soave  mio  fido  conforto,"  etc. 

The  next  again  is  imitated  from  Cino  da  Pistoja :  what  a 
crowd  of  words  at  the  opening  !  — 

"  Quel  antico  mio  dolce  empio  signore." 

It  is  permitted  in  no  other  poetry  than  the  Italian  to  shovel  up 
such  a  quantity  of  trash  and  triviality  before  the  doors. 

But  rather  than  indulge  in  censure,  we  will  recommend  to 
the  especial  perusal  of  the  reader  another  list  of  admirable 
compositions,  —  "Alma  felice,"  "Anima  bella,"  "  Ite  rime 
dolenti,"  "Tornami  a  mente,"  "  Quel  rossignol,"  "  Vago  augel- 
letto,"  «  Dolce  mio  caro,"  "  Gli  angeli,"  "  Ohime  !  il  bel  viso," 
"  Che  debbo  io  far,"  "  Amor !  se  vuoi,"  "  O  aspettata,"  "An- 
ima, che  dimostra,"  "Spirto  gentil,"  "Italia  mia."  Few  in- 
deed, if  any,  of  these  are  without  a  flaw;  but  they  are  of 
higher  worth  than  those  on  which  the  reader,  unless  fore- 
warned, would  spend  his  time  unprofitably.  It  would  be  a 
great  blessing  if  a  critic  deeply  versed  in  this  literature  (like 
Carey)  would  publish  the  Italian  poets  with  significant  marks 
before  the  passages  worth  reading ;  the  more  worth,  and  the 
less.  Probably  it  would  not  be  a  mark  of  admiration,  only 
that  surprise  and  admiration  have  but  one  between  them, 
which  would  follow  the  poet's  declaration  in  Canzone  XVIII., 
that  "  if  he  does  not  melt  away  it  is  because  fear  holds  him 
together."  After  this  foolery  he  becomes  a  true  poet  again, 
"  O  colli !  "  etc. ;  then  again  bad,  "  You  see  how  many  colors 
love  paints  my  face  with." 

Nothing  he  ever  wrote  is  so  tender  as  a  reproach  of  Laura, 


408  FRANCESCO  PETRARCA. 

after  ten  years'  admiration,  — "  You  are  soon  grown  tired  of 
loving  me !  " 

There  is  poetry  in  Petrarca  which  we  have  not  yet  adverted 
to,  in  which  he  has  changed  the  chords  KOL  -njv  \vprjv  aTrao-uv,  — 
such  as  "  Fiamma  del  ciel,"  "  L'  avara  Babilonia,"  "  Fontana 
di  dolor."  The  volumes  close  with  the  "  Trionfi."  The  first, 
as  we  might  have  anticipated,  is  "  II  Trionfo  d'  Amore."  The 
poem  is  a  vile  one,  stuffed  with  proper  names.  The  "Triumph 
of  Chastity  "  is  shorter,  as  might  also  be  anticipated,  and  not 
quite  so  full  of  them.  At  the  close,  Love  meets  Laura,  who 
makes  him  her  captive,  and  carries  him  in  triumph  among  the 
virgins  and  matrons  most  celebrated  for  purity  and  constancy. 
The  "  Triumph  of  Death  "  follows. 

This  poem  is  truly  admirable.  Laura  is  returning  from  her 
victory  over  Love ;  suddenly  there  appears  a  black  flag,  fol- 
lowed by  a  female  in  black  apparel,  and  terrible  in  attitude 
and  voice.  She  stops  the  festive  procession,  and  strikes 
Laura.  The  poet  now  describes  her  last  moments,  and  her 
soft  sleep  of  death,  in  which  she  retains  all  her  beauty.  In  the 
second  part  she  comes  to  him  in  a  dream,  holds  out  her  hand, 
and  invites  him  to  sit  by  her  on  the  bank  of  a  rivulet,  under 
the  shade  of  a  beech  and  a  laurel.  Nothing  in  this  most  beau- 
tiful of  languages  is  so  beautiful,  excepting  the  lines  of  Dante 
on  Francesca,  as  these,  — 

"  E  quella  man'  gia  tanto  desiata, 
A  me,  parlando  e  sospirando,  porse" 

Their  discourse  is  upon  death,  which  she  tells  him  should 
be  formidable  only  to  the  wicked,  and  assures  him  that  the 
enjoyment  she  receives  from  it  is  far  beyond  any  which  life 
has  to  bestow.  He  then  asks  her  a  question,  which  he  alone 
had  a  right  to  ask  her,  and  only  in  her  state  of  purity  and 
bliss  — 

"  She  sighed,  and  said, '  No  ;  nothing  could  dissever 
My  heart  from  thine,  and  nothing  shall  there  ever. 

If,  thy  fond  ardor  to  repress, 
I  sometimes  frowned  (and  how  could  I  do  less  ?), 
If  now  and  then  my  look  was  not  benign, 

'T  was  but  to  save  my  fame  and  thine ; 
And,  as  thou  knowest,  when  I  saw  thy  grief, 

A  glance  was  ready  with  relief.' 


FRANCESCO    PETRARCA  409 

"Scarce  with  dry  cheek 
These  tender  words  I  heard  her  speak. 
'  Were  they  but  true  ! '  1  cried.     She  bent  the  head, 

Not  unreproachfully,  and  said, 
'  Yes,  I  did  love  thee ;  and  whene'er 
I  turned  away  mine  eyes,  't  was  shame  and  fear ; 
A  thousand  times  to  thee  did  they  incline, 
But  sank  before  the  flame  that  shot  from  thine.'" 

He  who  the  twentieth  time  can  read  unmoved  this  canzone 
never  has  experienced  a  love  which  could  not  be  requited,  and 
never  has  deserved  a  happy  one. 


INDEX. 


A. 


./ENEID,  easy  to  show  twenty  bad  pas- 
sages, worse  in  the  Georgics,  48. 

Ajax  and  Dido,  23. 

Allegory,  delight  of  frivolous  minds,  126. 

Andreas,  king,  assassinated,  391 . 

Annihilation,  preferable  to  damnation, 
105. 

Apocalypse,  94. 

Asabel,  "  Parable  of,"  292-294. 

Assuntina,  confession,  absolution,  75. 

Atheist,  tolerant,  Catholic  intolerant,  104. 

Attic  tragedians,  method  of,  13. 

Auditors  and  readers  love  not  the  author's 
but  their  own  opinion  repeated,  40. 

Authors,  life  and  writings  contrasted,  1 6 ; 
glory  of,  best  secured  by  unstinting 
criticism  after  death,  41 ;  dead,  in- 
creased estimation  of,  89. 


B. 


BABYLONIANS,  Macedonians,  Romans, 
prove  no  resurrection  to  a  fallen 
nation,  34. 

Bacon,  Lord,  263. 

Barnett,  Ephraim,  takes  down  the  testi- 
mony of  Shakspeare,  his  145;  memor- 
andum prefixed  thereto,  145  ;  his  "  Post 
Scriptum,"  245. 

Beatrice,  changes  color,  66 ;  character  of, 

o2« 

Bible,  its  phraseology,  257. 

Blake,  Admiral,  263 ;  his  patriotism, 
26; ;  abstained  from  party  and  thought 
only  of  his  country,  265  ;  his  action  at 
Cadiz  as  glorious  as  any  of  Nelson's, 
265  ;  is  neglected  in  England  by  Arts 
and  authorities,  265 ;  fought  for  a 
country  without  a  king,  265 ;  among 
the  founders  of  freedom,  285. 


Boccaccio,  Giovanni,  illness  of,  i ;  re- 
ceives Petrarca  and  Frate  Biagio,  i  ; 
masses  said  for  him,  2 ;  describes  the 
nurse  Assuntina,  2 ;  his  promise  to 
Petrarca,  2;  holocaust  of  the  "De- 
cameron," 2;  not  jealous  of  Dante,  2; 
story  of  the  truffle  dog,  7 ;  his  dis- 
temper of  the  eyes,  10;  opinion  of 
Florentine  girls,  1 1 ;  is  advised  to  weed 
out  his  "Decameron,"  12;  compares 
the  great  poet  to  the  original  man  of 
the  Platonists,  16;  he  is  double,  16; 
his  opinion  on  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
27 ;  on  the  birthplace  of  great  poets, 
28 ;  his  blessing  on  Francesco,  28 ; 
views  of  philosophy  and  religion,  31 ; 
reflections  upon  death,  34;  his  visit 
to  Rome,  35  ;  his  canons  of  criticism, 
39 ;  his  reception  by  Seniscalco,  41 ; 
his  friend.  Acciaioli,  41 ;  his  view  of 
the  Psalms  of  David,  47  ;  of  the  sonnet, 
48 ;  of  the  horses  of  the  ancients,  52 ; 
education  completed  in  France,  72 ; 
prefers  his  own  country,  73  ;  his  opin- 
ion of  Beatrice,  82  ;  of  tragedy,  82  ; 
opinion  of  the  Englishman  and  French- 
man, 87  ;  of  Florentines,  88  ;  remarks 
on  barbarous  towns,  88;  visit  to  the 
villa  of  Dante,  90  ;  his  lines,  "  Depart- 
ure from  Fiametta,"  95 ;  reflections 
upon  a  chest  of  letters,  96 ;  his  story 
of  the  Nun  and  Fra  Biagio,  100;  re- 
flections upon  the  Catholic  religion, 

105  ;  his  last  morning  with  Petrarca, 

106  ;  prayer  to  the  Virgin,  107  ;  lines 
on  return  of  health,  107  ;  annunciation 
of  his  health,  112;  his  verses,  "  To  my 
Child  Carlino,"  115;  his  books  in  the 
tower  of  Certaldo,    117;  resolves  to 
preserve  the  "Decameron,"   117;  in- 
vention of  macaroni  in  his  day,  117; 
his  prayer  to  Laura  and  Fiametta,  117; 
his  vision,  118-120;  his  cat,  122;  his 


4I2 


INDEX. 


emphasis  of  sympathy,  124;  died  a 
good  Catholic,  128 ;  the  alleged  jeal- 
ousy of  Boccaccio  and  Petrarca,  133; 
always  called  Petrarca  his  master,  136; 
picture  of  the  gentle  Ermissenda,  136 ; 
his  immortal  work,  388 ;  friendship  for 
Petrarca,  390;  relative  quality  of  their 
genius,  390;  sends  "Divina  Corn- 
media  "  to  Petrarca,  394 ;  mistaken 
regrets  at  the  close  of  his  life,  394 ; 
not  appreciated,  399. 

Bolingbroke  and  Shaftesbury,  discon- 
tented politicians,  258. 

Bonaparte,  seldom  just  toward  an  enemy, 
251 ;  his  "Catechism"  adapted  to  the 
Middle  Ages,  252 ;  a  squanderer  of 
national  resources,  252;  his  military 
blunders,  253 ;  loses  all  by  over- 
grasping,  255. 

Books,  how  the  best  affect  the  public, 
144. 

Brougham,  Lord,  his  opinion  of  Caesar, 
Cromwell,  and  Milton,  249;  glances  at 
greatness,  256 ;  his  manner  distorted 
by  sarcasm,  258;  variety  and  greatness 
of  his  talents,  258. 

Byron,  not  a  "  mere  rhymer,"  269 ;  char- 
acteristics of  his  poetry,  368. 

Burke,  the  wisest  except  Bacon,  260. 


C. 


CAESAR,  Landor's  admiration  of,  249 ; 
excellence  of  his  style,  249 ;  compared 
to  Cromwell,  250. 

Campbell,  poet,  reference  to,  263 ;  his 
compilation  of  Petrarca,  372. 

Canning,  his  brilliancy,  260 ;  term 
"  scamp  "  applied  to  him,  270. 

Catholicism,  "  touched  to  the  quick," 
67. 

Cato,  the  sole  guardian  of  purgatory,  38. 

Catullus,  sketch  of  his  life,  325  ;  poems 
edited  by  peering,  325  ;  contempo- 
raries and  imitators,  326-328;  criti- 
cism of  his  poetry,  326-365  ;  poetry 
better  than  most  of  the  Augustan  age, 
331 ;  called  the  "learned,"  332;  com- 
pared to  Milton,  333-338 ;  compared 
to  La  Fontaine,  333 ;  translates  Sap- 
pho's ode,  351  ;  compared  to  Virgil, 
369,.37o. 

Canonico  Casini,  a  worthy  priest,  74. 

Certaldo,  an  old  burgess  of,  102. 

Charles  of  Luxemburg,  his  "  sweet, 
strange  action,"  387. 


Church,  the,  luxury  and  rapacity  of,  31. 

Churches,  Anglican  and  Catholic,  rela- 
tion of,  discussed,  131. 

Cicero,  his  energy  not  always  in  the 
right  place,  256. 

City,  founder  of,  less  than  a  poet,  87. 

Clement  VI.,  superior  to  his  predeces- 
sors, 385  ;  confers  a  priory  on  Petrarca, 

385- 

Clergy,  Anglican,  triple  duties  of,  130. 

Collins,  William,  excellence  of  his  "  Has- 
san," 323 ;  surpassed  by  Burns  and 
Scott  in  idylic  poetry,  323. 

Colonna,  Giacomo,  friend  of  Petrarca, 
378;  his  bravery,  378;  made  bishop 
of  Lombes,  378. 

Commandment,  cast  down  by  the  liter- 
ary from  over  their  communion  table, 

Communities,  small,  morals  and  hap- 
piness of,  69. 

Confessors,  circuitous  ways  of,  77. 
Crimes  against  society,  most  heinous, 

133; 

Criticism,  its  province  and  office,  39. 

Critics,  their  office  in  bringing  to  light 
the  writings  of  others,  44. 

Cromwell,  his  sincerity,  250;  next  to 
Alfred  as  a  ruler,  250  ;  the  shadow  of 
his  name,  254  ;  Landor's  inscription 
for  a  statue  of,  258 ;  bravely  humane 
and  tranquilly  energetic,  265 ;  greater 
than  all  things  but  his  country,  265 ; 
vindicated  the  nation  from  double 
slavery,  that  of  prince  and  priesthood, 
265  ;  his  body  treated  as  the  vilest 
malefactor's,  265. 

Crown  and  gallows,  sovereign  remedy, 
172. 


D. 


DANTE,  commandment  kept  in  regard 
to  him,  3;  a  twentieth  of  the  "Di- 
vina Commedia "  good,  4;  sixteen 
twentieths  of  the  Inferno  and  Purga- 
torio  detestable,  4;  apology  for  him, 
6;  a  string  of  satires,  6;  imprecations 
of  the  Pisans,  6;  best  apology  for  his 
poetical  character,  6;  his  best  thirty 
lines,  16;  his  own  features  reflected  in 
Ugliono,  16;  his  story  of  Francesca, 
1 6  ;  Inferno  immoral  and  impious,  17  ; 
his  exultation  and  merriment  over  suf- 
fering, 17;  compared  with  .<Eschylus 
and  Homer,  18 ;  his  powers  of  lan- 
guage prodigious,  20;  his  description 


INDEX. 


413 


of  Mahomet,  21 ;  Inferno  compared 
to  Homer,  22  ;  Inferno,  architectural 
fabric  of,  22 ;  compared  with  the 
Odyssea,  23 ;  Purgatorio  and  Para- 
diso,  pictures  from  church  and  chapel 
walls,  23 ;  discussion  of,  resumed,  36 ; 
estimate  of  him  by  the  Florentines, 
45 ;  had  no  suspicion  of  his  own  su- 
periority, 46 ;  no  tautologies  in  his 
poetry,  46  ;  his  relation  to  Virgil,  48  ; 
discussion  of,  resumed,  62 ;  Paradiso 
preferred  to  the  other  sections,  63; 
reverence  of  his  name,  88 ;  conversa- 
tion with  Giotto,  88 ;  compared  with 
Boccaccio,  98;  his  habit  of  vitupera- 
tion, 99 ;  grand  by  his  lights,  not  shad- 
ows, 103;  he  borrowed  less  from  his 
predecessors  than  the  Roman  poets 
did  from  theirs,  104. 

Death  lays  his  rose  on  the  cheek,  277. 

"Decameron,"  stories  of,  compared  with 
the  poetry  of  Petrarca,  390. 

"  De  Monarchic,"  94. 

"  Divina  Commedia,"  394,  399 ;  its 
place  in  literature,  399. 

Drake,  Admiral,  263. 

Dreams,  peculiarities  of  Landor's,  286. 


E. 

"  EARTH,  Italy,  and  Heaven,"  tripartite 

poem,  101. 

Egypt,  fatal  to  the  renown  of  conque- 
rors, 251. 
Emoluments  of  the  bishopric  of  London 

more  than  that  of  twelve  cardinals, 

ISO- 
England,  her  generals  and  admirals,  their 

rank  and  services,  263. 
English   history,   suppression  of  living 

figures  in,  265. 
English  nation,  undue  interest  in  politics, 

264. 
Englishmen,  character  of,  85  ;  compared 

with   Italians,  87;  always  prefer  the 

true   and    modest   to  the   false    and 

meretricious,  254. 
Engraver,  his  work  rejected  by  the  editor, 

144. 

Ennius  and  Lucilius,  21. 
Episcopacy,  persecuting  and  intolerant, 

250. 
Epitaph,  "  He  loved,"  better  than  "  He 

killed,"  44. 

Example,  bad,  of  a  great  man,  5. 
Expression,  clearness  of,  13. 


F. 


FAME  and  celebrity,  difference  of,  125. 

Florentines,  first  syllable  in  proper  names 
omitted,  29. 

Florentine  girls,  their  mode  of  dress  cen- 
sured, 10. 

Fortune,  ill,  many  ties,  —  good,  few  and 
fragile  ones,  22. 

Fox  (C.  J.),  his  genius  and  many  ac- 
complishments, 270. 

French,  its  "nasty  nasalities,"  62. 

Friendship  and  Fortune,  115  ;  metaphor- 
ical description  of,  287;  has  all  the 
attributes  of  love,  except  the  bow, 
quiver,  and  arrows. 


G. 

GALEOTTO,  present  meaning  of  the  ap- 
pellation, 37. 

Gargarelli,  Maria,  story  of,  79. 

Genius,  flaw  in  the  title-deeds,  104. 

Germans,  compared  with  the  French,  73. 

Ghibelhnes,  Guelphs,  and  the  "  Decam- 
eron," 102. 

Girls,  naturally  pure-minded,  77. 

Giovanna,  queen,  acquitted  of  crime  by 
the  pope,  392. 

Giovanni  da  Ravenna,  interest  of  Pe- 


defies  the  pontificate, 


trarca  in,  397. 
Giovanni  Visconti, 


.393- 


Glaston,  Doctor,  his  admonition  to  the 
clergy,  208 ;  his  advice  to  young  men 
in  regard  to  poetry,  228 ;  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy  advises  bhakspeare  to  study  his 
verse,  229. 

Good  out  of  evil,  gift  of  elevated  minds, 
97 ;  good  things  often  passed  and 
forgotten,  when  lacking  dignity  and 
beauty,  256. 

Gough,  Sir  Silas,  chaplain  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy,  151 ,  assists  at  the  examination 
of  Shakspeare,  151 ;  his  skill  in  venison 
tested,  1 52 ;  threatens  Shakspeare  with 
banishment,  153;  urgent  for  the  pris- 
oner's committal,  155;  suggests  pair- 
ing of  the  ears,  and  branding  of  the 
forehead,  187 ;  jealous  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  his  sermons,  198  ;  his  encoun- 
ter of  wit  with  Shakspeare,  204  ;  quotes 
the  dean's  song  of  the  "Two  Jacks," 
230 ;  his  opinion  on  epitaphs,  234 ; 
urges  the  abandonment  of  Hannah 
Hathaway,  241 ;  visits  Hannah  Hath- 


414 


INDEX. 


away's  mother,  245 ;  threatens  to 
force  Shakspeare's  father  to  prosecute 
him  for  horse-stealing,  245. 

Greatness,  pernicious  to  keep  up  the  il- 
lusion of  in  wicked  men. 

Great  men,  tutelar,  262. 

Great  thoughts,  reappearance  of,  104. 

Grief,  "great  grief,  few  tears,"  157. 

Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  greatest  king 
the  world  ever  beheld,  264. 


H. 


HATRED  and  pity,  compared,  82. 

Heads  of  confession,  a  mouthful,  132. 

Heart  and  imagination,  office  of,  in 
poetry,  98. 

Hell,  inscription  on  portal  of,  23. 

Hemans,  Mrs.,  reference  to,  263 ;  "  Ivan  " 
and  "  Casablanca,"  367. 

Heroines,  in  Spanish  convents,  only 
French,  280. 

Heroism,  some  in  Spanish  cities,  280. 

Historians,  English,  262. 

History,  its  part  in  criticism,  91. 

Hofer,  the  greatness  of  his  patriotism, 
251 ;  compared  to  Washington  and 
Kosciusco,  284 ;  "  the  death  pf,"  283- 
285. 

Holy  Church,  improvement  upon  con- 
fession, 77. 

Holy  Virgin,  worship  of,  66 ;  prayer  to, 
107. 

Homer,  lived  prior  to  letters  in  Greece, 
26. 

Honor,  laws  of,  in  France,  214. 

Horace,  felicity  in  the  choice  of  words, 

94* 

Horace's  "Journey  to  Brundusium,"  39. 
Hymns  to  the  Creator,  earliest  poetry, 

25. 
Hyperboreans,  mounted  instruments  in 

use,  27. 


ICE,  in  summer,  66. 

Ideas,  their  expression  nearly  the  same 
when  they  strike  like  chords  of  sym- 
pathy, 256. 

Imagination  and  fancy,  backward  flight 
of,  36. 

Imitation,  not  weakness  but  sympathy, 
104. 

Inez,  a  character  in  "Santander," 
272-281. 


Innocence,  found  only  in  little  children, 

67. 
Intellectuality,  compared  with  sympathy, 

124. 

Invective,  office  of,  104. 
Italy,  government  of,  70 ;  every  man's 

land,  73;  swarms  with  robbers,  391; 

number  and  ability  of  her  statesmen, 

393- 

Italian,  advantages  in  versification  com- 
pared with  the  Latin,  52. 

Italians,  their  good  nature,  382. 


J- 

JENNER,  his  place  as  a  benefactor,  259. 
"  Jeribohaniah,"  295-297. 
Jesus  Christ,  compared  with  Jupiter,  38. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  his  prejudices,  335. 


KING,  should  never  be  struck  unless  in 

a  vital  part,  253. 
Kosciusko,  284. 


LAMPOONERS,  character  of,  92. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage,  his  defence 
against  the  "  Quarterly  Review,"  267 ; 
never  called  Bonaparte  a  "  blockhead," 
nor  Pitt  a  "villain,"  nor  Fox  a 
"scoundrel,"  nor  Canning  a  "scamp," 
268,  269;  few  writers  less  obnoxious 
to  rudeness,  270 ;  remembers  the  fable 
of  Phaedrus,  270,  271. 

Landseer,  Edwin,  exercises  dominion 
over  all  the  beasts  of  the  field,  399. 

Laura,  daughter  of  Audibert  de  No- 
ves,  376 ;  was  married  to  Hugh  de 
Sade,  376 ;  the  passion  of  Petrarca 
awakened  on  the  marriage  morn,  376; 
the  sonnets  addressed  to  her,  376  ; 
some  doubted  her  existence,  377 ;  her 
name  played  upon  by  her  lover,  378 ; 
seldom  met  her  lover,  379 ;  excelled 
all  the  ladies  of  her  day  in  grace  of 
manner,  379  ;  her  life  in  danger,  379; 
meets  her  lover,  379  ;  three  canzoni 
on  the  eyes  of  Laura,  the  "  Three 
Graces,"  380  ;  Simone  Memmi  incorpo- 
rates her  features  into  his  sacred  com- 
positions, 380 ;  her  portrait  painted  in 
1339,  when  she  was  thirty-two  years  old, 
381 ;  retains  the  charms  of  youth  when 


INDEX. 


415 


the  mother  of  nine  children,  381 ;  in- 
formation of  her  is  conveyed  to  her 
lover,  385  ;  reports  of  her  melan- 
choly, 386 ;  is  pleased  with  the  return 
of  Petrarca,  386  ;  Charles  of  Luxem- 
burg salutes  her  at  a  ball,  387  ;  excites 
the  envy  of  her  lover,  387;  in  her 
fortieth  year,  387;  final  separation 
of  the  lovers,  387;  gazes  upon  the 
bridal  robe  in  which  she  captivated 
the  author  of  her  immortality,  388  ; 
her  husband  illiterate,  coarse,  morose, 
388  ;  news  of  her  death  conveyed  to 
Petrarca,  388  ;  dies  on  the  day  and 
the  hour  of  their  first  meeting,  —  her 
marriage  morn,  388 ;  third  anniver- 
sary of  her  death,  391 ;  compared  to  a 
Cariatid  of  stainless  marble,  394 ;  no 
mention  of  her  children  by  her  lover, 
396;  celebrated  in  the  dialogues  of 
Petrarca,  400 ;  sonnets  on  her  death, 
408,  409. 

Leghorn,  the  name,  how  originated,  373. 

Logic,  an  old  shrew,  13. 

Love,  the,  of  Petrarca,  Boccaccio,  and 
Dante,  96. 

Lucretius,  vituperation  of,  104;  his  vig- 
orous verses,  370. 

Lucy,  Sir  Thomas,  his  examination  of 
Shakspeare,  151  ;  threatens  to  rid 
the  country  of  him,  153;  examines 
Joseph  Carnaby,  159;  commands  the 
papers  taken  from  the  prisoner  to  be 
read,  167  ;  advises  the  lad  to  study, 
1 68 ;  criticisms  on  "  The  Maid's 
Lament,"  171 ;  misconstrues  Shak- 
speare's  dialogue  between  two  shep- 
herds, 175;  his  exhortation  to  Shak- 
speare, 1 76 ;  examines  Euseby  Treen, 
a  witness,  1 78 ;  reproves  the  prisoner 
for  personating  royal  characters,  183  ; 
expounds  the  dignity  of  bucks,  swans, 
and  herons,  185  ;  is  minded  to  save 
Shakspeare,  186;  good  saying  attrib- 
uted to,  by  Shakespeare,  187 ;  his  dia- 
logue with  the  prisoner  in  regard  to 
Dr,  Glaston,  191  ;  inquires  if  Shak- 
speare is  popishly  inclined,  202  ;  de- 
clares to  Sir  Silas  that  the  boy  shall 
not  be  hanged,  205  ;  his  verses  on 
Chloe,  219  ;  on  the  same  with  a  quince, 
222 ;  with  a  gillyflower,  223 ;  compli- 
mented by  Queen  Elizabeth  on  his 
verses,  224 ;  quotes  Sir  Everard  Star- 
key's  lines  on  Fanny Carew,  231;  quotes 
Mistress  Anne  Nanfan's  answer  to  his 
poetical  address,  237 ;  and  his  reply, 


238;  insists  upon  Shakspeare's  aban- 
doning Hannah  Hathaway,  242 ;  is 
disappointed,  243. 


M. 

MADONNA  LAURA,  112. 

"  Maid's  Lament,  The,"  contents  of  the 
second  paper  found  in  the  pockets  of 
Shakspeare.  169. 

Man  of  genius,  avoid  censure  of,  before 
the  young,  89. 

Man,  guiltless,  may  feel  the  pangs  of  the 
guilty,  157. 

Manufacturing  town  of  England,  con- 
tains more  crime  than  the  four  con- 
tinents, 131. 

Marlborough,  Duke  of,  263. 

Marsyas,  flayed  by  Apollo,  89. 

Mazarine,  ruler  of  France,  twisted  about 
Cromwell's  finger,  254, 

Memmi,  Simone,  character  of  his  art, 
380  ;  paints  the  portrait  of  Laura,  381. 

Mermaid,  song  of,  165. 

Merman,  song  of,  166. 

Meretrice,  94. 

Merit,  its  origin,  382. 

Merits,  first  discovered  among  the 
church-yard  nettles,  43. 

Milton,  the  energy  and  elegance  of  his 
English,  256 ;  style,  stateliness  of, 
257;  compared  to  Politian,  330;  his 
"  Paradise  Regained,"  333,  334,  336; 
Wharton's  and  Johnson's  opinion  of, 
335  ;  "Treatise  on  Prelaty,"  336;  his 
extraordinary  oversight,  337  «.;  com- 
pared to  Homer,  337  ;  to  Catullus,  339; 
"  Comus,"  extravagance  of,  339. 

"Miser  Catulle"  and  ''Sirmio,"  most 
perfect  poems  in  the  Latin  tongue,  52. 

Monarchy  universal,  not  practicable,  67. 

Moscow,  its  jealousy  of  St.  Petersburg, 
253. 

Mugnone  villa  of  Dante,  90. 

Muscovite  empire,  its  extremities  easily 
broken  off,  253. 


N. 


NAFAN,  Mistress,  her  answer  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's  poetical  idea,  237. 

Names,  the  spelling  of,  not  to  be  rashly 
meddled  with,  374. 

Napoleon,  why  Frenchmen  honor  him, 
265. 


INDEX. 


Nations,  discussion  of,  70,  72. 
Needles,  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  168  ». 
Nelson,  Admiral,  263. 
Nero,  the  pestilential  dogstar,  9;  mo- 
tive for  burning  Rome,  9. 
Nightingale,  estimation  of,  in  Italy,  85. 


O. 


OUDINOT,   his  grenadiers  frighten  the 

menagerie  of  monkeys,  254. 
Ovid,  had  the  finest  imagination  of  all 

the  ancient  Romans,  5 1 ;  truest  tact 

in  judging  poetry,  51. 


P. 


PAPACY,  the,  usurpation  of,  65  ;  cause 
of  Italian  misery,  70. 

Parent,  duties  of,  396. 

Parliament,  issue  of  Act  of  Grace  in  re- 
gard to  eating,  129. 

Peel,  Sir  Robert,  how  popular,  260; 
changed  his  sentiments  honestly  and 
always  for  the  better,  260 ;  refused  the 
title  of  nobility,  260;  not  enriched  by 
the  spoils  of  his  country,  260 ;  con- 
trasted with  Wai  pole,  260 ;  a  man 
virtuous  and  friendly  in  private,  260; 
a  monument  proposed  at  public  ex- 
pense, 261 ;  schools  and  almshouses 
the  best  inscription  to  his  memory, 
261. 

"  Pentameron,"  reasons  for  publishing 
it,  ix ;  the  booksellers  say  it  must  be 
called  by  this  title,  ix ;  translated  by 
the  best  hand,  ix ;  the  five  dialogues 
written  by  neither  of  the  interlocutors, 
xi ;  the  "Interviews"  took  place  in 
Boccaccio's  villa,  xi;  authentic  ac- 
count of  what  passed  between  the 
author's  countrymen,  Giovanni  and 
Francesco,  xi ;  death  of  Giovanni  three 
years  after  the  "Interviews,"  xii; 
death  of  Francesco  three  months  later, 
xii. 

Persia  conquered  yet  rises  again,3v 

Petrarca,  Francesco,  his  banishment 
from  Florence,  2 ;  malice  and  de- 
traction strangers  to  him,  4 ;  views 
on  the  structure  of  sentences,  12 ; 
compares  the  Italian  with  the  Latin 
language,  12  ;  his  advice  to  Boccaccio 
in  regard  to  style,  13 ;  remarks  on 
men  of  high  and  low  stature,  13 ; 


opinion  of  great  painters,  poetry,  and 
criticism,  14;  his  _  idea  of  what  is 
Ciceronian,  14 ;  criticism  of  "  Lisa- 
betta  and  Gismonda,"  18  ;  good  poem, 
definition  of,  19;  assertion  that  the 
poet  builds  better  than  he  knows,  19  ; 
is  crowned  in  the  capital  of  the 
Christian  world,  21  ;  the  ties  which 
bound  him  to  Dante,  22 ;  banishment 
of  the  two  families  on  the  same  day, 
22  ;  saw  Dante  but  once,  22  ;  views 
on  the  subjugation  of  nations,  30 ; 
gives  the  Florentine  method  of  pro- 
per names,  30;  view  of  the  Church, 
31 ;  memory  of  Laura,  33  ;  reflections 
on  love,  34 ;  gives  the  view  of  the 
ancients  in  regard  to  indecency,  44 ; 
comparison  of  Virgil  and  Dante,  51  ; 
Sunday  morning  at  Certaldo,  54-59 ; 
is  called  the  Crowned  Martyr,  60 ; 
quaternion,  95  ;  found  dead  in  his 
library,  135  ;  last  words  of,  135  ;  his 
daughter,  Ermissenda,  136 ;  reasons 
for  not  Anglicizing  his  name,  372  ; 
his  ancestry,  374 ;  changes  his  name 
from  Petracco,  374 ;  taken  to  Vau- 
cluse,  375;  his  early  love  of  the 
classics,  375  ;  educated  at  Montpelier, 
375 ;  first  attempts  at  poetry,  376 ; 
poetry  neglected  by  Italian  scholars, 
377;  his  "Africa,"  its  barrenness, 
377  ;  invited  to  Naples,  381 ;  crowned 
laureate  at  Rome,  382  ;  ill  treated  by 
the  populace,  382 ;  is  above  the  poets 
of  his  age,  382;  his  resemblance  to 
Abelard,  383 ;  love  of  liberty,  384  ;  his 
dream,  385  ;  made  private  chaplain  to 
Queen  Giovanna,  386 ;  declines  the 
office  of  Apostolic  secretary,  386 ; 
leaves  Naples,  386 ;  is  disappointed  in 
Rienzi,  387 ;  takes  his  farewell  of 
Laura,  387 ;  visits  his  birthplace, 
391 ;  honors  paid  to  him,  391  ;  his 
property  restored  by  the  Republic  of 
Florence,  391  ;  is  regarded  as  a  wiz- 
ard by  pope  Innocent,  392 ;  his  em- 
bassy by  the  emperor  Charles,  393 ; 
resides  at  Linterno,  393  ;  is  jealous  of 
Dante's  genius,  394 ;  his  children, 
lack  of  interest  in,  395 ;  illness  at 
Venice,  398. 

Phaedrus,  fable  of,  270. 

Philosophers,  deserve  a  monument,  262 ; 
in  most  places  unwelcome,  262. 

Pievano  Grigi  to  the  reader,  128. 

Pindar,  and  Attic  tragedians,  method  of, 


INDEX. 


417 


Pitt,  wars  with  France  to  please  the 
king,  269. 

Platonic,  its  true  meaning,  383. 

"  Platonis  Principia,"  poem,  331. 

Pleasure,  sensation  of  health  after  long 
confinement,  1 1 2. 

"  Plica  Polonica,"  89. 

Poetry,  its  origin,  25 ;  hymns  to  the 
Creator,  25  ;  early  hymns  called  upon 
the  Deity  for  vengeance,  25  ;  Chryses 
in  the  Iliad,  25 ;  David  in  the 
Psalms,  25  ;  level  countries  unfavor- 
able to  its  production,  27  ;  beauties  as 
well  as  blemishes  considered,  37  ;  com- 
pared with  music,  48  ;  like  game,  tin- 
forbidden  to  persons  of  condition,  214. 

Poet,  what  constitutes  a  great  one,  103. 

Poets,  those  gone  only  warm  us,  those 
that  remain  fever  us,  21  ;  their  mu- 
tual estimates,  136 ;  compared  to 
adders.  168. 

Pope,  infallibility  of,  66. 

Popery,  praying  for  the  dead,  170. 

Potency  of  the  French  tragic  verse,  216. 

Power,  one-man,  8. 

Praise,  echo  of,  14;  and  censure,  the 
generous  and  ungenerous  use  of,  21. 

Prayers  for  rain  on  every  Sabbath,  130. 

Priesthood,  its  iniquity  tending  to  the 
utter  abandonment  of  religion,  31. 

Princes,  their  one  apothegm,  68. 


Q- 


"  QUARTERLY  REVIEW,"  Landor's  con- 
troversy with,  268. 

Queen  Elizabeth,  her  talk  with  Earl  of 
Essex,  146. 


R. 


RAFFAELLINO  DEGLI  ALFANI,  story 
of,  121. 

Republics,  spirit  of,  omnipresent,  68. 

Rhetoric,  escape  from,  13. 

Richard  de  Bury,  his  great  learning,  85. 

Richard  the  Third,  his  service  to  the 
nation,  264. 

Rienzi,  his  vanity,  389 ;  likeness  to 
Napoleon,  389;  regret  for  his  fall, 
390 ;  imprisoned  at  Prague,  392 ;  his 
restoration  to  power,  392. 

Rodney,  Admiral,  263. 

Rome,  accursed,  doomed  to  eternal  ster- 
ility, 34  ;  goose  only  not  degenerated, 


35  ;   last  city  to  rise  from  the  dead, 
35;  wretched  days  of,  71. 
Romily,  Samuel,  the  sincerest  patriot  of 
his  day,  260. 


S. 


SAINT  FRANCESCO  and  Poverty,  21. 

Saint  Simon  Peter's  divinity,  examina- 
tion of  the  poet,  64. 

Santander,  a  story  of,  272-282. 

Seniscalco,  absolute  ruler,  yet  absolute 
master  of  his  time,  41. 

Sentence,  most  beautiful  in  all  Latinity, 

94- 

Ser  Geofreddo  (Chaucer),  greatest  genius 
of  English  literature,  87. 

Shakspeare,  William,  is  one  of  four  pre- 
eminently great  men,  137;  cause  of 
his  hegira,  141;  motive  in  writing,  141 ; 
criticism  of  his  Jew,  147 ;  attends  the  fu- 
neral of  Spenser,  147;  not  permitted  to 
throw  his  pen  and  poem  into  the  grave 
with  the  other  poets,  148  ;  is  recognized 
as  player,  not  as  author,  148  ;  Jacob's 
letter  concerning  him  concluded,  148; 
is  raised  to  the  company  of  the  Queen's 
Players,  148;  his  examination,  151  ; 
brought  into  the  great  hall  at  Charle- 
cote,  151  ;  accused  of  deer  stealing, 
151  ;  venison  table  produced  against 
him,  151  ;  his  appeal  to  Sir  Thomas, 
151;  view  of  prayer,  151  ;  retort  to 
Sir  Silas  Gough,  156;  dialogue  be- 
tween him,  Sir  Thomas,  and  Sir  Silas, 
157;  he  begs  to  be  committed,  157; 
witnesses  summoned  against  him,  1 58 ; 
he  finds  a  bit  of  discrepancy  in  the 
testimony,  159;  outline  of  plays  found, 
164,  «.;  recites  "  The  Mermaid,"  and 
"The  Merman,"  166;  papers  found 
in  his  pockets,  167;  "The  Owlet," 
167 ;  is  advised  by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
168;  his  poem  "The  Maid's  La- 
ment," 169;  is  threatened  with  the 
gallows,  1 72  ;  he  moves  them  to  tears, 
174 ;  is  accused  of  counterfeiting  kings 
and  queens,  183;  it  goeth  against  Sir 
Thomas  to  hang  him,  185  ;  his  com- 
mitment proposed,  186  ;  his  reply  to 
Sir  Thomas  deserves  letters  of  gold, 
187;  Sir  Thomas  says  he  shall  not 
die,  187;  Sir  Silas  suggests  pairing  of 
the  ears  and  branding  of  the  forehead, 
187;  Sir  Thomas  begs  to  know  how 
he  may  cease  to  disgrace  the  county, 


4i8 


INDEX. 


187;  he  points  out  the  conflicting  tes- 
timony, 187  :  makes  his  own  plea, 
1 88 ;  flaw  in  the  testimony  of  Treen, 
189;  is  accused  of  suborning  the  wit- 
nesses, 190  ;  his  narration,  192  ;  dia- 
logue between  him  and  the  Oxford 
preacher,  193 ;  dines  with  Dr.  Glas- 
ton,  194 ;  reports  the  sermon  of  Dr. 
Glaston  to  Sir  Thomas,  197  ;  not  po- 
pishly  inclined,  202  ;  encounter  of  wit 
with  Sir  Silas,  203,  204  ;  is  advised  by 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  to  copy  the  French 
drama  and  avoid  tragedy  and  comedy, 
215  ;  his  verses  on  a  "Sweet  Brier," 
220 ;  lines  to  Sir  Thomas,  224  ;  ad- 
vice in  case  of  sparing  his  life,  229  ; 
song  of  the  "  Two  Jacks,"  230;  his 
release  commanded  by  Sir  Thomas, 
242  ;  is  warned  against  the  company 
of  Hannah  Hathaway,  242  ;  the  Book 
of  Life  placed  in  his  hands,  he  must 
touch  it  with  both  lips,  242 ;  is  com- 
manded to  swear,  243  ;  his  vow  not  to 
forget  or  desert  his  Hannah,  243  ;  in- 
cites the  wrath  of  Sir  Silas  and  Sir 
Thomas,  243  ;  his  sudden  flight,  244 , 
twelve  days  after  the  flight,  245  ;  Han- 
nah's doleful  plight  about  him,  245  ; 
his  mother  and  Hannah  admonished 
to  forget  him,  245  ;  the  sorrel  mare 
on  which  he  fled  his  father's,  245  ;  ac- 
cused of  horse-stealing,  245  ;  his  father 
bound  over  as  his  prosecutor  at  the 
next  assizes,  245  ;  the  futurity  of  his 
genius,  255  ;  is  called  the  only  uni- 
versal poet.  367. 

Shelley,  reference  to,  383,  n. 

Sidney,  Philip,  263. 

Simon  and  Master  Adam,  dialogue  be- 
tween, 39. 

Sincerity/hatred  of,  112. 

Solitude  and  Nature,  influence  of.  84. 

Sonnet,  the,  adapted  to  the  languor  of 
love,  48  ;  how  poetasters  are  using  it, 
49. 

Sophocles,  yEschylus,  Homer,  98. 

Southey,  his  hostility  to  Bonaparte,  269  ; 
studious  of  classical  models,  368 ;  mer- 
its of  his  "  Roderick "  as  compared 
with  "Marmion,"  368. 

Sovereigns,  their  relative  greatness,  262. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  fugitive  from  Ire- 
land, 146  ;  compared  with  ancient  and 
modern  poets,  146  ;  interview  between 
Spenser  and  Essex,  146 ;  his  death, 
146. 

Statues,  places  most  suitable  for,  259. 


Story,  two  ways  of  completion,  129. 
Style,  usually  follows  the  conformation 
of  the  mind,  257. 


T. 


TAUTOLOGY,  bad  in  all  tongues  and  all 
times,  47  ;  Psalms  of  David,  47. 

Tennyson's  "  Godiva,"  323. 

Theocritus,  Idyls  of,  301-324;  best 
German  editions  of,  301  ;  doubts  of 
genuineness,  301  ;  sketch  of  his  life, 
304  ;  imitated  by  Virgil,  305  ;  by  Mil- 
ton, 307  ;  compared  with  Milton,  308  ; 
Virgil's  translations,  312  ;  has  little 
sublimity,  319;  beautiiul  thoughts  in 
his  Pastorals,  324. 

Theology,  the  mother  of  violence,  262  ; 
kings  were  her  lackeys,  262. 

Thomson,  James,  beautiful  descriptions 
in  his  "Seasons,"  323;  deficient  in 
delineation  of  character,  323. 

Thought,  does  not  separate  man  from 
the  brutes,  —  brutes  think,  256. 

Thoughts,  renovating  and  cheerful,  35. 

Thrace  and  Scj'thia,  lands  of  fable,  26. 

Thracians,  worn-out  wonders,  27. 

Time,  powerless  over  thoughts  in  their 
cabinet  of  words,  101  ;  reckoned  in 
sleep  as  in  heaven,  118. 

Tower  at  Certaldo,  description  of,  117. 

Towns,  barbarous,  do  not  know  their 
own  great  men,  —  the  towns  of  Italy 
reverence  theirs,  88. 

Tradition,  we  admire  by  it,  14. 

Treen,  Euseby,  a  witness  against  Shak- 
speare,  178;  his  evidence,  179;  his 
fright  on  beholding  the  deer-stealers, 
182. 

Truth,  only  unpleasant  in  its  novelty, 
46  ;  gagged  by  theology,  262. 

U. 

URBAN,   Pope,  fixes  his  residence   at 

Rome,  397. 
Usurpers,  often  the  greatest  and  best  of 

princes,  264. 

V. 

VENICE,   is  among  cities   what  Shak- 

speare  is  among  men,  285. 
Verses,  stolen,  get  bruised  and  bitten 

like  stolen  apples,  103. 
Virgil  and  Hesiod  compared,  47  ;  Virgil 


INDEX. 


419 


frost  bitten,  47  ;  his  kindness  to  dumb 

creatures,  53. 
Virtue  cannot  drive  out  sickness  and 

sorrow,  396. 
Vow,  fulfilment  of,  8. 


W. 

WALPOLE,  ROBERT,  his  talent  for  busi- 
ness, 260. 

Warnings,  given  at  all  times  of  life,  43. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  263;  his  de- 
spatches, knowledge,  sense,  and  wis- 
dom displayed  in,  267;  cannot  make 
his  actions  greater  than  they  are,  268 ; 
Landor  commends  the  purity,  concise- 
ness, and  manliness  of  his  style,  268. 

Westminster  Abbey,  not  suitable  for 
statues  of  warriors  and  statesmen,  261 . 


Wilkes,  John,  excited  more  enthusiasm 
than  Hampden,  264. 

Women,  foibles  of,  n. 

Words,  last  of  the  preacher  and  the 
hanged,  206. 

Wordsworth,  William,  his  "  Michael," 
323  ;  beauty  of  his  idyls  in  the  "  Ex- 
cursion," 323  ;  always  contemplative, 
but  never  creative,  367. 

Work  and  recreation,  offices  compared, 
lot. 

Writers,  celebrated,  how  to  speak  of 
them  publicly,  64. 


ZENO,  worthy  a  place  in  the  gallery  ot 
Lucullus,  262. 


University  Press :    John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


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